Alone
by Vinividivinci
Summary: Just when he needs his friends the most they have all abandoned him. Will he survive what is about to happen? Extreme angst and whump (maybe some later Shules).
1. Chapter 1

_**This is my first-ever Psych fic. I've written a number of stories for Stargate Sg1 but recently saw Psych (because of my kids) and they love it - so here is my attempt at a Psych fic.**_

**_For those who know me through Stargate - I hope you'll give this show a chance - it's fun. For those of you who don't know my writing - I'm a definite whumper and romantic. If you don't like either genre you probably don't want to read my fics._**

_**Thanks and I hope for some reviews!**_

Shawn stopped nervously on the steps and took a deep breath. It was just the police station, a place he'd been a thousand times. Why was he feeling like this?

He knew why. Things had gone badly on his last case and Chief Vick had practically told him to stay away for a good long while. The other officers – even Buzz – had been pretty upset at him as well. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. Just get on with it man, he said to himself. Nerves were something that very rarely affected him – that's why he wasn't quite sure how to handle them now.

Still, he knew he needed to speak to someone. It was important and he really couldn't put it off any longer. He would have spoken to his Dad, but the man was angry at him – besides which he'd left on a four day fishing trip with an old buddy from his days on the force.

He'd tried to talk to Gus, but his friend was tense about his upcoming interview and had told him he couldn't talk right now. The pharmaceutical sales rep had been jumpy all week, and rather short with Shawn, but he'd chocked it up to Gus' worry about his promotion. It meant a lot to Gus and so he'd left him – with only one or two quips and suggestions on how to ace the interview.

Nope – it was down to Juliet, or at the worst Chief Vick. He could probably also have spoken to Lassiter except the Chief Detective was _really_ mad at him. He'd taken the last case – and the article in the paper about 'bumbling cops' very personally. Shawn figured it was best to stay away from him for a while.

He could count on Jules though. She'd never turn him away! She was his friend, even though he kind of wished for more. For now her friendship – and her job as a detective – would be enough.

With one final breath he continued up the stairs and into the station. As he opened the door he forced himself to rid himself of his serious look and plaster on his usual, sunny expression. Putting on what he hoped was a real looking smile he strode forward.

"Uh Jules …"

"For heaven's sake Shawn, when will you grow up?" She said a few minutes later. She looked up from her desk in aggravation. "We're trying to work here and you're bouncing around talking about smoothies, for God's sake! I don't have time for this!"

Shawn could see Lassiter smirking at him out of the corner of his eye. It was rare that Juliet got upset with him – in fact he couldn't remember when she'd been _quite_ so sharp. It hurt – he'd only been trying to lighten things up before asking her -! But of course he couldn't let her know that. He had an image to project and a 'hurt Shawn' was just somewhere he wasn't going to go.

Oh – he could _pretend_ to be hurt – he did it all the time but this – no, he'd just have to laugh this off and let her think it was water off the proverbial horse's back. So, he shrugged and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Since when does anyone _not_ have time for smoothies Jules?" he grinned.

She sighed and looked down, seemingly tired of him and his antics. "Please just go", she said softly, no longer looking at him. "I need to get this done."

He stood silently for a moment and then turned, this time _not_ catching Lassie's eyes. The man was probably still smirking but Shawn didn't think he could take it right now and didn't have a comeback at the ready.

Shawn gave his own sigh and swung around, his shoes silent on the tile floor. He made his way slowly to the Chief's office. It was probably better that he told her anyway. She was the one that could do something about it. She'd probably tell him he should have told her before, but he'd been sure he could handle it.

"Chief -!"

"Not now Mr. Spencer", she said sharply, looking up from her desk. "We're busy with an important case and don't need you here right now."

"But – if it's important than you really _do _need us!", he answered quickly. He slowly put his hand to his head to give her a nudge as to how valuable he'd been in the past. "We can help Chief – real -"

"_Mr. Spencer_!" she answered, sounding angry. "I will call if we need you – and right now we _do not_! We are under strict instructions that this case is to be handled by SBPD officers _only_. I cannot hire you even if I wanted to – which, quite frankly, I don't."

This time he really _was_ hurt. What was wrong with everyone today? Gus had snapped at him – his father was angry because he thought Shawn had forgotten to wait for the repair guy and so Henry was still without air conditioning. He'd tried to explain that he _had_ been there – but the guy didn't have the right part and said he would come back. His father hadn't given him the chance to explain and had told him to leave. Of course he'd gotten angry and walked off without saying anything more. What it meant though was that he hadn't been able to talk to his father and tell him what was going on.

And now there was Jules – the last person he would ever have expected to turn on him. Okay – so he'd _kind_ of made a mess of the last case, but it hadn't been intentional, and they _had_ caught the guy at the end of it. Of course the papers had made the police out to be at fault for the delay in catching him – but that wasn't his fault. He couldn't help it if they went after the wrong guy!

So okay – he'd _sort of_ given them the idea that it could be the company president – but it had only been a preliminary guess and they shouldn't have jumped so quickly. And it _wasn't _his fault that the guy had decided to sue the department. Fortunately he'd dropped the charges when Shawn had pointed out some discrepancies in the guy's tax return – but they were still mad at him.

"Mr. Spencer?" The Chief's voice, and glare, broke through this thoughts. "I suggest you – go wherever it is you go and leave us to do our jobs. And the next time we need you we'll call _you_. I don't need you hanging around my precinct, bothering my officers!"

"But Chief - !"

"Out. NOW!" She pointed with her finger and after a second he'd nodded and turned around and left. Even Buzz refused to look at him as he walked past.

"_Fine_", he muttered, throwing the door open to the station and walking out. "If that's the way you want it, I'll handle it myself!"

Except he didn't really _want_ to handle it himself. He would never have admitted it to anyone, but he was frightened and figured he needed some help. With a slight groan he flipped up the kick stand on his bike and got on. After a brief pause he moved out. He'd talk to Gus. His friend wouldn't let him down.

After Shawn had left earlier that day, Gus had sighed and sat staring into space. He thought back to what Dr. Evans had told him. Maybe the man was right. Maybe it was time to cut the cord that bound him to Shawn. He needed this promotion, _wanted_ it – _deserved _it – and he was afraid Shawn would screw it up for him like he so often did.

He'd started seeing Dr. Evans a couple of months ago – after a particularly nerve-wracking case. He hadn't told Shawn – hadn't told anyone in fact, but he'd thought that going to a psychologist might help him deal with his nerves and stress.

It hadn't taken long for the Doc to find out about Shawn and his relationship with his best friend. For some reason the man had focused in on that and seemed to think it was the root of all Gus' problems. He'd been counseling Gus to stand up to his friend, to refuse to put up with some of Shawn's wilder schemes and now – now he was trying to get him to break away from him completely.

"Do you really believe that Shawn is a healthy person for you to be around?" the Doc had asked him. "Do you feel he helps you grow and mature as a person?"

Gus had hemmed and hawed, but he couldn't honestly say that Shawn matured him – or anyone for that matter. He'd tried to defend his friend and the influence he had on Gus' life, but he'd found it hard.

The more time he spent talking to Dr. Evans the more he'd become convinced that he needed a break from Shawn. He was sure his parents would be happy. They'd never really approved of the friendship. And it would probably be good for Shawn, he justified. They simply egged one another on. Maybe Shawn would grow up if he was separated from Gus.

"I need to be my own man", Gus repeated the words the Doc had said. "I need to stand up to him and just say no. I need space. Shawn is holding me back."

He sighed. How could he give up his best friend? He couldn't - no, he really couldn't. He'd just have to tell the Doc that he was going to stand up to Shawn more – but he couldn't, wouldn't give him up.

He forced himself to lower his head and resume his studying. This interview was important – and the promotion something he really wanted. He had to concentrate on that.

The pounding came only a few minutes later and he groaned. Shawn! No, please. He tried ignoring the noise but after a few seconds he heard a key in the lock and his door swung open, hitting the wall behind it. Since when had he given Shawn a key? He'd just had his locks changes and he _knew_ he hadn't made a set for his friend. In fact, that was why he'd changed the locks in the first place.

"Shawn?" he snapped. "What are you doing here and why do you have a key to my place?"

Shawn looked at the key in surprise, as if he had no idea how it had gotten into his hand – or how he'd opened the door with it. "Hey – I don't know Dude. Whatcha doing?"

"You _know_ what I'm doing Shawn. I told you. And I also told you I didn't want to be disturbed. This is important and I don't want you bugging me – so can you please leave?"

"Ah, don't be a hanging radiator Gus! Come on. Let's go get something to eat – I know you're hungry. I can tell by the un-Gus-like snippiness."

"Shawn NO."

"Come on", he whined. "It won't take long. I'll even buy you a pineapple upside down cake as a treat."

"For one, you have no money and two – you can't buy pineapple upside down cakes anywhere in Santa Barbara. I know because you already tried."

"You can't?" Shwan said, sounding shocked. "Wow – that's – wow."

"Shawn, will you _please_ go. I need to work. I've told you how important this is to me."

"I know Gussy pants and I promise I'll let you get right back to it. I just need -"

"NO!" That did it! Dr. Evans was right. Shawn was going to hold him back. How could he possibly think he'd be a success if he continued to hang around this – this _man-child_? His breathing sped up and he could only see his friend in a haze. "No", he said more quietly. "I've told you, I don't have time. And actually – I want you to leave and not come back."

"Not – you mean until you're done the interview?" Shawn asked hopefully.

"No – I mean _ever_. I can't do this anymore Shawn. I need – I need to be on my own, to have my own life. You're holding me back. You seem to want to spend your life playing – but I've grown up, even if you haven't." Doc Evans words kept running over and over in his mind and seemed to be making their way out of Gus' mouth without him even being aware. "You're not _good _for me Shawn – and I'm probably not good for you either. Just – leave and get your own life. You can have Psych. I'll stop by after my interview and collect me things."

"Hey – Guster – Dude, what is this about?" Shawn was frowning now, looking uncharacteristically serious. "I didn't mean anything by -"

"Just leave it Shawn", his friend said quietly, somberly. "I mean it. I really can't do this anymore. I've spent too much of my life following you around. I need to be my own person – my own _man_ and I can't be if you're around. I'm sorry. I want you to be happy but – but I can't be your friend anymore."

Shawn was shocked. What the hell was wrong? What had he _done_? He knew that he teased Gus, sometimes too much and he knew that sometimes he went too far but – but Gus was his _friend_, his best friend. No - they were more like brothers. He couldn't survive without his friend. He opened his mouth but then caught Gus' eye. The man was serious – he could see it.

He swallowed painfully, feeling like he wanted to cry. What had he _done_, he asked himself again. Why did everyone, even the man he thought he could always count on – hate him?

"Okay", he said softly. He knew he didn't have any other choice. Gus was determined – he could see it in the way he stood and in his face. He had just lost his best friend in the world. "I hope", his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, "I hope your interview goes well." He turned slowly and then glanced down at his hand. He reached out and quietly set the key on the small table by the door.

It was only after he opened the door that he once again turned. "I'm sorry Gus – and – thanks for all the good times." With that he walked out and quietly closed the door behind him.

Shawn stood for a few minutes, looking at nothing. He laughed softly – well, that word just about covered it, he thought. He had nothing – and no one. He took a shaky breath and started forward, to his bike. He was well and truly on his own.


	2. Too Late For Sorry

_**Hey - hope some people are enjoying! If so send me a line (don't know how many read this fic). Sorry again to all my Stargate readers - this may not be your 'cup of tea'.**_

It had started just over two weeks ago, at the same time that they were brought onto a new case by Chief Vick. It was an important case, she'd told him, involving a local philanthropist and company executive. The person involved was a close friend of the Governor and they'd wanted it handled carefully.

"Careful is my middle name", he'd told Gus as he bounced out of the police station.

"No it's not – it's Henry", his friend always liked to deflate him like an overripe melon.

"Well, it _should_ be 'careful'. Henry is just so – ugh."

"It's your father's name", Gus had pointed out – needlessly thought Shawn. He already knew his father's name.

"So, let's go get something to eat", he'd suggested, changing from the boring subject of his father's name to something much more important. "All this sleuthing around has made me hungry."

"_What_ sleuthing?" Gus asked. "We just got the case five minutes ago."

"Yeah – but my psychic brain works in dog years. It's like – five minutes for you is – weeks to me."

"it's dog _years_ Shawn, not minutes. And it would be thirty-five minutes , not weeks."

"Hey, how come you're raining all over my umbrella today?"

"I think you mean 'parade'."

"I've heard it both ways. So, how come?"

Gus sighed. "I'm not raining on anything – I just think we should get on this case right away. The Chief said it's important."

"Okay – fine", Shawn huffed. "But don't blame me if they find me at the side of the road, a desiccated shell of a man whose potential was destroyed because his friend wouldn't let him eat."

"Fine – we'll stop at Eureka Burgers. It's on the way to Johansson's."

Sean nodded, happy to be able to stop for food as they headed to the office of the man being investigated. He knew he'd be able to think much better on a full stomach.

It was when they'd gone in to get their burgers that Shawn first felt something strange. He'd quickly glanced around, but didn't notice anything different. He immediately decided he must have been imagining things because if there _had_ been something he knew he would have spotted it.

The feeling returned, however, the next day. It was almost as if he was being watched. But why – and by whom? It could relate to their new case, although he didn't think so. He and Gus hadn't really done anything that would make anyone nervous – at least not yet. It could have been something from their previous case, although the criminal in that one was behind bars.

He shook off the strange feeling and went back to trying to figure out who was the guilty party in what he was calling the Governor's Little Adventure.

By the third day he knew something was wrong – he just didn't know what. He hadn't seen anyone suspicious and there was nothing to actually report, but he had a gut feeling that someone was watching him. He almost laughed at that – maybe he was turning psychic for real! Unfortunately a feeling – no matter how strong – really wasn't enough to go to the cops on, even if he did it on a regular basis with other cases. This time – because it was about him – he knew he'd need more.

Well – you should never ask for something unless you really want it. The forth night he definitely got more. He was out walking late – he liked to go down by the beach at night when he was trying to figure out a case. No one really knew he did it, but the sound of the water and the darkness allowed him to focus and to remove all other extraneous sights and sounds. He was standing quietly, looking out at the ocean, when something struck him so hard across the back that the air was forced from his lungs and he was thrown to the ground, gasping and writhing.

By the time he was able to breathe, whoever had attacked him was long gone. He felt in his pocket to check that his wallet was still there. Relieved, but confused, when he found it he frowned. What the hell had that been about? He glanced around but he was alone on the beach.

It could have been some psycho or maybe a drunk but somehow he didn't think so. He was pretty sure – why he didn't know – that this was connected to whoever had been following him. But why would the man – he assumed it was a man, even if that was sexist – hit him and then run? Sure it had hurt – probably left a lovely bruise across his back – but it hadn't done that much harm. He didn't even need to go and get it checked out. He shook his head. This was getting really strange.

A few other incidents happened over the next few days, so minor as to make him think he might be imagining things. He'd tripped and fallen when he was walking down the street and fortunately a bystander had managed to catch him and keep him from doing a face-plant. He'd thanked the guy and only then was able to think back to what had happened. He knew that he'd been tripped. He tried to remember the faces that had been around him at the time and was frustrated when he couldn't picture his attacker. It just wasn't like him!

Then there was the key not working in his door. He tried for almost ten minutes and had to finally call a locksmith. The man informed him that he had the wrong key for the lock. He'd frowned – he'd used this key for months. It was only when he'd looked closely at the deadbolt that he realized it had been changed. He immediately rushed inside, but after an extensive search he decided nothing had been touched, which was strange in and of itself. The frustrating thing was that he had to pay to have _another_ lock installed. He couldn't have some weirdo out there with the key to his place.

The final straw had been when the doorbell had rung and he'd answered it to find a delivery man – with an entire truckload of furniture waiting to be delivered.

"Uh – I didn't order that", he'd told the guy.

"Name of Shawn Spencer?" the man had asked.

"Yes, but -"

"Then it's yours. Just sign here." He handed him a clipboard.

"No – no, you don't understand. I didn't order any furniture – it's not mine."

"Well, I've got to get it out of my truck. I have another order behind yours. I'll just have to put it in your driveway for now."

"NO – it isn't mine and I don't want it here. You can take it and return it the store." But the man didn't listen so he'd had to call the store and have them come and pick everything up. They'd tried to make him pay – but they had nothing to prove he'd ordered it. Someone had paid cash. He threatened to call the cops, or sue – or send Tiddly the Clown to their head office. The Clown suggestion worked and they picked the furniture up and didn't charge him.

Thank God people hated clowns!

It was after the furniture incident – which could have been viewed as little more than a prank – that the calls started. At first it just heavy breathing. He'd hoped it was Jules, although he was pretty sure it wasn't. After that he'd started to get seriously creeped out. What guy would call and breathe heavily at him? It was the fourth call, however, that started him seriously worrying.

The man – again, he was sure it was a man – began to whisper obscenities. He described, in pretty gruesome detail – what he planned to do to Shawn when he got him. Some of the words Shawn didn't even know – but when he looked them up he felt nauseated. This was definitely getting out of hand!

Still – the case with the cops was still going on and things hit the fan just about the time his mystery stalker ratcheted things up. He debated mentioning it to Jules at the time, but she was pretty stressed so he decided he could leave it until the case was solved.

He wished now he hadn't. It was the day after they caught the _real_ culprit – after embarrassing the company president _and_ friend of the Governor – that things really got bad. Shawn got a note – left on top of his desk at Psych – which warned him he was going to die – slowly and painfully.

He drove away from Gus feeling numb. It had been a long time since he'd had this feeling of utter rejection – probably since he'd found out that his parents had split. He tried to reason with himself that Gus would get over it – but inside he knew that wasn't going to happen. For the first time that he could ever remember, Gus had sounded like an adult who knew his own mind – an adult who had just removed an irritant from his life and planned to move on.

Shawn kept driving – hoping that the feel of the open road, the wind whipping past his face would help him forget everything. Maybe he should just keep going? Did he really have anything here anymore?

He thought of his father. Henry would probably be relieved to get on with his life of retirement and not have to continuously worry about his disappointment of a son. Lassiter would be thrilled – he'd finally get rid of the pesky psychic who made his life hell. The Chief – she'd blink and go on with her life and career. Jules? He hoped Jules would miss him a little bit, but from the way she acted today she'd probably be relieved too. He was pretty sure she would find some nice upstanding accountant and settle down with 2.5 children.

Gus – well Gus had already made it clear he'd do much better without Shawn. And the fact was, he _owed_ it to Gus to get out of his life. It was true that he held him back. If it wasn't for him Gus would probably have been a doctor by now. He thought about Gus' hatred of blood and decided that was his fault too. No – Gus was better off without him.

Buzz would probably miss him, Shawn reasoned, although he had a young wife and baby so probably wouldn't worry too much about him. In fact, the only person who would really miss him was Jaime, the owner of the Smoothie Hut and Enrico – the hot dog vendor. Their business would fall off dramatically if he were to leave.

He changed gears on his bike and passed the car in front of him – not knowing and not particularly caring where he was going.

He trod slowly up to his apartment, more tired than he could remember being in a long time. He'd driven for hours, only returning when he realized he barely had enough money for gas. If he was going to leave, he'd need to take out the rest of the cash in his savings account. He'd also have to close things up at Psych. It wasn't fair to leave it for Gus.

He opened the door – grateful that the key worked – and stepped inside. It took a moment before his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He took a step forward and the world exploded.

His assailant stood looking down at him, a strange small smile on his face.

* * *

Gus felt great – for all of ten minutes. He'd aced the interview, he was sure of it. The president had shook his hand and told him he was a real asset to the company and he'd be hearing from them soon. He was almost positive he'd gotten the promotion.

His first thought was that he had to call Shawn and tell him. His friend would be so – he stopped. Oh crap! He closed his eyes, remembering suddenly his last conversation with the man. What the hell had he been thinking? He'd allowed that prig, Dr. Evans, to convince him to ditch the most important person in his life. It's true that Shawn could be frustrating, irritating and downright bothersome – he was also fiercely loyal, courageous – and damn funny. He did bring out the child in Gus – there was no doubt about that – but there was also no doubt that that was exactly what he needed. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that without his friend he'd be a stiff, boring stuffed shirt.

Shawn didn't just bring out the child in Gus – he brought life to him. Gus knew he was a better man for his friend – stronger, braver and definitely more interesting. He also brought out the caring, nurturing side of him – because if there was anyone who needed loving care it was Shawn.

"Crap", he said again. He'd have to go and do some serious groveling. He had to go over to Shawn's and apologize. He wondered if a smoothie would be enough, even a pineapple one? No – he knew it wouldn't be. He'd have to take him out to one of his favorite restaurants and then spend an evening or two watching A Team and MacGyver marathons. He grinned slightly. It sounded great.

He knocked for the third time but there was still no answer. That was strange, he frowned. Shawn's bike was here and he knew the man didn't have any other mode of transportation, not since the Blueberry had been out of his reach. "Maybe he has Henry's truck?" He didn't think it likely but you never knew. He could be running errands for his father.

Still, he'd better check to make sure everything was okay. He pulled out the key – the one Shawn had given him – and fit it in the lock. "What the –? " It didn't work. He tried again but it was obvious it was the wrong key. Shawn had had the lock changed. Damn, he must have been really hurt.

And you're surprised, Guster asked himself? Of _course_ Shawn was hurt. Wouldn't you have been if he'd thrown you out of his life? What a moron he was, he said to himself. He rubbed his head. He had to find Shawn and say he was sorry. He needed his friend.

* * *

Henry answered the door, drying his hands on the towel. He'd just arrived back from his fishing trip and was putting everything away. He cursed at the heat in the house, again thinking about his irresponsible son. What did he do to deserve Shawn? He'd asked him for a simple favor and he couldn't even do that!

"Yes, can I help you?" he asked the man standing there.

"Uh – it's Joe", the guy said. After a pause he looked surprised. "You know – about your air conditioner. I finally got the part it needed and came to finish it."

"_Finish_ it?" Henry was confused. "What do you mean _finish_? You haven't been here before."

"Uh – yeah I have. I came here a few days ago – a young guy let me in. I checked over the air conditioner and told him it needed a simple part to fix it. Unfortunately I had to order one", he held up a small cylinder. "I didn't have any in stock. The young guy told me he'd let you know."

"Oh – oh yeah – sorry, I forgot. I've been away." He let the repairman in and suddenly felt foolish. He thought back to his conversation with his son and realized he hadn't even let him explain. He'd jumped to the conclusion that Shawn had screwed up – and had accused him unfairly. He was going to have to eat some serious crow!

As soon as – Joe – left he was going to call Shawn and apologize – and invite him over for a steak. Damn – what an idiot he'd been!

* * *

"Lassiter! O'Hara", Captain Vick called to her two detective. "I need to see you in here immediately."

Juliet looked at her partner, her brows lifted. "I wonder what that's about."

"Probably about the Scheffer case", he muttered. So far they had few, if any leads, and no idea as to the motive or the killer. They were all under stress and they knew that Vick was getting pressure from above. The Scheffers were a wealthy family in Santa Barbara and the victim had been Ida Scheffer's sister. She'd been visiting them from Pasadena and had been found strangled when the couple had returned from a night at the opera.

George and Ida Scheffer were the kind of people who expected to be handed anything they wanted – instantly. They used their wealth to bully people and to buy favors. When Madeleine Tumi – Ida's sister – was killed, they'd hit the roof. George had picked up the phone and had personally called the Mayor, accusing the police of not doing their duty and demanding instant results.

The Mayor had called Vick – relaying to her the necessity of wrapping the case up quickly. "And don't bring in that damn psychic", he snapped. "We can't afford any more bad press!"

She'd agreed, although personally thought that Shawn would have been helpful. She did agree that he could cause trouble so was torn about him, although she was pretty sure he'd get the results quickly, if not cleanly.

She had just received another – was it the third or fourth – dressing down from the Mayor, accusing her of 'piddling around' – when Shawn had come in to see her. She knew she'd snapped at him unfairly and chocked it up to the pressure she was under. Right now she'd throw her arms around him if he were to walk through her door.

"You wanted to see us Chief?" Lassiter stuck his head around the door.

"Come in Detectives", she said calmly. "Have a seat." Once the two were seated she regarded them carefully. She then cleared her throat. "Anything on the Scheffer case?"

"I'm sorry Captain", Juliet spoke, glancing at her partner. "We hoped we had something but it didn't pan out. I'm afraid we just don't have enough information – or evidence."

"How could a sixty year old woman – with no ties to anyone or anything criminal – be strangled with a house full of servants around her?" Vick asked, for the tenth time.

"The servants were in their rooms – separated from the main house", Juliet explained, although she knew the Chief already knew this.

"I know", Vick sighed, resting her head in her hands. "The Mayor just called."

Again, thought Juliet? She felt sorry for her boss – and glad she didn't have to deal with the man.

"He wants Spencer on the case."

"Now look here Chief", Lassiter practically exploded. "This is my case and it's not right that that – that – pseudo-psycho should waltz in here and stick his pointy nose in it!"

"Have you solved it yet Detective?" Karen asked calmly.

"No – but -"

"And are you close to solving it?"

"No – not yet – but give me time. I'll figure it out and we won't have to pay that smarmy -"

"Enough Detective. I know you don't want Shawn in on this, but the fact is – his arrest rate is the best in the department and the Mayor wants him. Even if I didn't – which I do – I'd have no choice, and neither do you!" She turned to Juliet. "Do you know how to get in touch with him? I tried to leave a message but it says his voice mail is full."

"That's strange", frowned Juliet. "He's usually pretty good at picking up messages. Have you tried Gus?"

"I did", she sighed. "He says he hasn't seen him in days, but he'll pass on the message."

"Days?" Juliet didn't think the two men went even one day – hell, even one hour – without talking. She suddenly worried that something was wrong. "What about Henry?"

"I haven't tried him yet – I wanted to ask you first." She gave a tired smile. "I kind of thought Shawn would prefer to have you tracking him down rather than his father."

"Why should any of us track him down?" Lassiter asked, the scowl seemingly permanently sketched on his face.

"Because we need him Detective", Karen said tiredly. "Please find him and fill him in on the details. We need this case solved quickly!"

As they were walking away from the Chief's office, Juliet couldn't help but think back to the last time she'd seen Shawn. She cringed at how rude she'd been to him. He hadn't deserved that from her. And it wasn't like she had been mad at _him_. She was tired and frustrated – and okay, a little sore at him for making them look incompetent – but still, he'd been trying to cheer her up and she'd practically bitten his head off. She'd have to apologize to him as soon as she saw him. She smiled. Maybe she'd invite him out for an apology dinner.

But first she had to find him. She picked up her cell phone and dialed.

Little did she know it would take much more than that to locate the lost psychic.

* * *

Shawn groaned and turned his head. It took him only a second to realize he was in deep, deep trouble.

"Crap!"


	3. Oh Come On!

_**The following has some disturbing images (nothing graffic) and is appropriate for adults. **_

"Oh come _on_", he yelled. "This is so not cool. There's a Knight Rider marathon on tonight and I'm pretty sure Kitt is gonna meet a Lamborghini and fall in love. Of course she'll turn out to be the bad car, but hey I really don't want to miss it because there's nothing quite like watching two cars get it on." He tugged on the tape holding his arms to the chair. "Come on – don't just leave me here! It's the _Knight Rider_!"

The total silence continued, which was really beginning to freak him out, although there's no way he'd let whoever his kidnapper was know that. No – he had to remain cool cause he was Shawn, the psychic detective of awesomeness!

"_Hello_", he called again, hoping for something or someone. "I have to use the potty and unless you feel like cleaning up after me you'd better get in here!"

He'd woken up in a plain room which held nothing but the chair he was sitting in, a small wooden table off to one side, and a bare light bulb hanging down over his head. His first thought, after waking up and realizing he was in trouble, was that it was _way_ too clichéd. "Come on Dude – a bare hanging light bulb? It would have been way scarier if it was one of those poofy lights from Ikea."

He continued to talk as he again tried to loosen the duct tape that was holding his arms to the chair his legs to those of the wood chair. No matter how hard he tried though, it didn't seem to budge. He _hated_ duct tape!

He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious although his head was still throbbing like crazy. He was pretty sure he didn't have a concussion – or if he did it was only mild – because he wasn't feeling nauseated and his vision seemed okay. "Not that I have anything interesting to SEE", he ended on a yell. "Dude, you're gonna kill me with boredom here and I don't expect that was your plan."

"No – it wasn't." The door had opened so silently that Shawn practically missed it. He felt a shiver up his spine as the man who entered spoke, although the last thing he was going to do was to let the guy know that.

"Uh – hi. I assume you're here to apologize and let me go?" He looked at the man who entered, closely, and was more than a little surprised that he didn't know him. In fact, he was positive he'd never even seen the guy before.

The man laughed – a soft laugh that _sounded_ sane although Shawn thought that maybe he heard something a bit off.

"But I've waited for so long for this moment Shawn", the guy said. "I would feel badly about cutting our visit short."

"Right- well I don't want to be rude, but maybe we could arrange it for another time – you know, when I'm free and don't have somewhere else I'm supposed to be."

"I thought you were going home to watch Knight Rider?"

"Uh – yeah." Okay – that proved the room must be miked – either that or the guy had been outside the door listening. "But that was _after_ I was expected at my Dad's – and you know – or maybe you don't. He gets real nervous if I don't show up on time. I wouldn't be surprised if he calls the cops and has them start looking for me."

The man laughed again, sounding genuinely amused. "Really? I don't think your Dad's expecting you Shawn. In fact I know he's not. You and he had one of your regular fights and he isn't expecting to see you anytime soon. Beside which the cops wouldn't start looking for you until you'd been gone for at least 24 hours."

Shawn took a deep breath and tried to appear relaxed. What the hell did this guy want? "Uh – right – well why don't we get the introductions over with – you haven't told me your name – then we can chit chat for a little while, have a drink, eat some munchies and I'll head home. I can probably still catch the tail end of Knight Rider."

"Sorry", the man sighed, sounding sorrowful. "That's not going to happen I'm afraid. No – you and I have some business to attend to. As for my name, why don't you just call me Bill?"

"Bill – that's a nice name. It's a – a _friendly_ name you know. In fact, I've often said to G – to someone I know, that one day I'd name my kid Bill because I'd like a friendly kid. It's the name of someone who would never hurt anyone, you know. Nope – it's the name of a nice guy who wouldn't hurt a porcupine."

The man raised his brows and shook his head. "You surprise me Shawn", he said. "I knew you were a bit – different – but I had no idea you could be so flippant."

"Flippant? Me? No – no, I'm just trying to be friendly. The 'chit chat' part of the evening you know."

"Evening?"

"Uh – it is evening– right?" He was desperate for some information to help orient himself. There were no windows in the room and he hadn't been able to tell anything when the man entered.

Bill didn't answer, he simply looked at Shawn for a couple more minutes and then turned and walked to the door.

"Hey – where are you going? I thought it was going nicely. Don't be offended. In fact, if you just release me we can shake hands and be friends."

Just as he reached the door Bill turned to him, a strange look on his face. "I'm not interested in being your friend." He paused and again stared at Shawn. "I'm going to get some things and then we'll get started."

After he was gone Shawn licked his lips and took a few deep breaths. He looked over the room one more time, hoping for something that could help him. He tugged at his bonds again but still there was no change. He didn't know what Bill had meant about getting started – but it didn't sound good – not at all.

"Gus", he whispered, "where are you when I need you man?"

In fact Gus was on his way over to Henry's. Shawn still wasn't answering his door and his voice mail was full. Lassiter had just called – for the third time – so he hadn't heard from him either. He'd finally bitten the bullet and called Henry a few hours ago, but the man hadn't heard anything from his son.

"I'm sure he's just out somewhere Gus", Henry had said calmly. "You said his bike is still there? Well then – he probably took a cab somewhere. Maybe he met some woman and is spending the night?"

Gus wasn't about to say anything, but he knew there was no way Shawn was with a woman – not unless that woman was Juliet. And he knew that couldn't be because she'd also called him looking for Shawn.

Since his friend had broken up with Abigail he hadn't been out with anyone. Gus knew that he had it bad for Juliet – real bad – but he also knew that Shawn hadn't done anything about it yet. Still, it meant that there was no way he was with another woman.

So now he was going to Henry's – his senses all telling him that something was wrong – very wrong. Shawn might be irresponsible – and careless and immature – but he was rarely unpredictable. Gus was pretty good at figuring out where he could be at any given time. This time he was in none of those places.

As he drove the Blueberry to Henry's he had to force himself to ignore the guilt for now. He was pretty sure that it was his rejection of his best friend that had led to this. He just prayed Shawn wouldn't get himself into serious trouble because his feelings had been hurt.

After parking his car he made his way to Henry's front door. He didn't think Henry would call him crazy, but you never knew with Shawn's dad. Still, he had to try something.

"Gus, I'm sure he's simply out doing whatever he does", a tired looking Henry, dressed only in his robe, sat across the kitchen table from him, sipping on a cup of herbal tea. "Caffeine keeps me awake", he'd told Gus as he made a cup for himself.

"I don't think so", Gus shook his head. "I know the places Shawn likes to go and he's not at any of them. Besides that, he would never leave his bike."

"He would if he was planning to go to a bar and drink. It's the one area where Shawn is really responsible. He'd never drink and drive."

Gus nodded but continued. "He barely _drinks_", he told Shawn's father. "I can't remember the last time he went into a bar, unless it was on a case."

"Really?" Henry sounded surprised – and surprisingly pleased. "I didn't know that."

"Shawn doesn't need alcohol", Gus snorted. "He's high on life!"

Henry snorted as well and took a sip of his tea. "Yeah, you've got that right. So where do you think he could be?"

"I don't _know_, that's the problem. It's not like him and frankly, I'm worried Mr. Spencer."

Henry sighed. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Uh – four days ago."

"For _days_? Isn't that longer than you usually go without talking to him?"

"Yeah", Gus looked down. "I kind of – told him I didn't want to see him", he muttered.

"Really? What did he do this time?"

Henry said it casually, as if he wasn't surprised that Gus would have written off his friend. For some reason that really bothered him.

"Nothing – I mean nothing really. I had an important interview at work and I asked him not to bug me. He came over anyway and I kind of got mad at him. I didn't really mean -" he stopped and looked down, feeling even guiltier. "Yes – I did mean it – _then_. I was angry at him and I said some terrible things." He stood suddenly, knocking back his chair. "It's all my fault", he cried, looking distraught. "I did this to him. I destroyed him – me, his best friend! Why did I do that? _Why_?"

"Calm down Guster", Henry said, taking another sip. "You didn't destroy him at all. In fact it was probably good for him that you stood up for yourself. I expect you asked him nicely not to bug you and he did it anyway? Yeah well then, he deserved it. But it _wouldn't_ have made him run away or get into trouble."

"Are you sure?" Gus asked hopefully.

"Yes, I'm sure. Come on – you know Shawn. He was probably just waiting for things to blow over and then he'd show up at your place and invite you out for jerk chicken."

"And he'd 'accidentally' forget his wallet and I'd have to pay", Gus said softly, a smile on his face.

"Exactly! See _that's_ Shawn. Any anyway, if his bike is still there it means he hasn't left town."

"But then where is he?" Gus said again, the frown reappearing on his face. "And why isn't he answering his phone?"

"Probably a dead battery", said his loving but experienced father.

"But his voice mail is full. He always checks messages. He's sure that one day David Hasselhoff is going to call and want to hire him and he doesn't want to miss it."

"His voice mail is full?" Henry had thought about phoning his son earlier but had put it off. He knew he had to apologize but it was something he'd done very rarely with Shawn and he found it surprisingly uncomfortable so found himself avoiding it. Usually it was the other way round – or at least it _should_ have been, although Shawn wasn't that great at apologizing either. So, decided to call tomorrow. Now however – he wished he had because he was starting to agree with Gus. Something was definitely wrong.

"Let's call Lassiter", he said suddenly. "I think we should at least check it out."

"Okay, although they know he's missing. They've been trying to get ahold of him about a case."

"Not the Scheffer case?" Henry asked, surprised.

"Yeah, that's the one. I guess the mayor isn't happy with the slowness of the investigation and asked for Psych to be brought in."

Henry didn't say another word – instead he quickly stood up and went over to his phone and grabbed the receiver. He hit one number – damn, he had the cops on speed dial, thought Gus. After a moment he spoke.

"Carlton? Yeah, it's Henry Spencer. Say, Gus and I are a little worried about Shawn. We can't seem to locate him and I was wondering if you'd heard anything?" There was silence for a few moments. "I _know_ he's a grown man but this isn't like him." Another silence. "No, it's not. Look I think Burton and I know him better than you and we both think there's something wrong. Yes", he nodded after listening to Lassiter for a few seconds. "I'd appreciate that. Let me know if you find anything."

"Well?" Gus looked at him expectantly.

"They're going over to check Shawn's place. They're going to ask the landlord to open his door to check that everything is okay." Henry frowned suddenly. "Don't you have a key to his place?"

"I did", Gus said dejectedly. "He changed the lock this week so I can't get in."

"He – why?"

"He was mad at me", Gus answered. "He didn't want me in his house."

Henry frowned even more. "That doesn't sound like Shawn", he said. "I can't imagine him even thinking about something like that. He would have had to be pretty mad,"

"Or hurt", Gus admitted. "Well if it wasn't for me, why would he have changed the lock?"

Henry had no idea and so didn't want to even speculate. Instead he wanted Lassiter and O'Hara on this _now. _The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. He was positive that something was really wrong.

It wasn't long before Bill came back. This time he was carrying a backpack and – Shawn frowned – a brown manila envelope?

His kidnapper put both the envelope and the backpack down on the table and then pulled it over in front of Shawn.

"I have a little homework for you", he said casually. "You're going to help me."

"Uh – okay – glad to. I think. You are going to pay me right? I mean, G – I usually get $1200 a day for my work."

"Shut up", the man said calmly as he opened the envelope. "I'd wanted to see you work", he said casually. "In fact, I planned it that way, in the way of a reference you know."

Shawn frowned. He'd _planned_ it? What did he mean? "A reference?"

"Yup – I was going to watch you work cause then I knew I'd know if you were a fake." He looked up abruptly, sudden fury written on his face. "And I was right", he hissed. "So I'm afraid I'll have to make you pay for that."

"I don't have a lot of money Dude", he said quickly, although he was pretty sure the guy wasn't talking about getting paid in cash. "But you can have that. And what did you mean by you were right? I'm not a fake if that's what you're talking about. No! I am the real thing!" he said, using his deepest voice.

Without any warning at all – not even a slight change of expression on his kidnapper's face – Bill reached out and struck him across the face.

His head was jerked to the side and back into the chair. It hurt! What made it worse, the man was wearing a ring and it hit Shawn right on the cheek bone. The aching in his head just moved up about ten notches. And the guy was _married_? He somehow wouldn't have figured that one out.

"Ow – why'd you do that?"

"Shut up", Bill said quietly as he pulled things out of the envelope and began to lay them on the table in front of him. "You're going to get the chance to prove me wrong and solve this case for me."

"Okay sure, I'll try", he said, trying to see the photos, although his eyes were still a bit wonky from the hit on the head and the slap. He assumed the pictures were crime scene photos and he wondered again what this was about.

"No", Bill swung around angrily, "you won't _try_ – you'll do it and the longer it takes the more painful it'll be for you."

Bill's voice again sent shivers running through him. He quickly turned his eyes back to the photos and squinted, trying to see them better. "What the -?" He quickly looked up and then down again. "These are – my god – who is this?"

Shawn was pretty used to seeing dead bodies and had a tough stomach. His father had made him look at crime scene photos from the time he was a kid and he'd quickly learned to look for clues and not pay attention to the actual dead human being. But these pictures were impossible to look at clinically. These photos made him want to throw up.

"_What do you see_?" Bill growled. "Tell me – you're the psychic – at least you say you are. WHAT DO YOU SEE?"

Shawn swallowed, and closed his eyes. He really couldn't bear to look at them. The slap again threw his head back and it hurt even more this time. He was afraid one of his molars might be loose.

"Open your eyes", Bill hissed. He grabbed Shawn by the hair and shoved his head back into the chair. "Don't close them. You're a psychic – or at least you say you are – and I want you to tell me who killed her."

Shawn opened his eyes and licked his lips. "Who – who is she?" he asked. The pictures were horrific and probably the worst thing he'd ever seen. The victim looked like she couldn't have been more than five or six years old. And she had been tortured.

"You don't know?" his kidnapper bent down and spoke, his face inches from Shawn's. "You _are_ a fake!"

Shawn forced himself to look again at the photos, focusing his eyes on the one that wasn't horrible. It was a picture taken of the little girl – obviously before she was taken. She was laughing at the camera, a little stuffed rabbit in her arms. He felt his throat tighten but he kept looking at it. "She was your daughter", he said softly.

"Yeah", Bill straightened up. "The best thing in my life." He reached over and picked up the nice picture, tracing it gently with his finger. "She loved that rabbit. Her Mom and I bought it for her third birthday – she never went anywhere without it after that."

Shawn stayed quiet, listening to a man who had obviously been destroyed by grief. It was funny, but his sympathy instantly went up – but so did his fear. This was someone who had nothing to lose in life – not after he'd lost the most important thing of all. That made him unpredictable and Shawn suddenly knew his life really was in real danger.

Bill gently laid the picture down and turned to Shawn. "Enough", he said softly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to prod your memory", he said. He walked a couple of steps and lifted the backpack. He unzipped the bag and reached in. "I find that pain is a great help."


	4. Having a Smoke

_**And the whump begins ….**_

"You know, I find that pain does just the opposite. In fact, cushy pillows and smoothies help me think much better. Just ask my Dad. He'll tell you that I don't do well at all with pain. I shut down – sad but true. So, it might be a better idea to just sit down and we can talk some more." Shawn knew he was babbling but couldn't help himself. He sat there – as if he could do anything _but_ – and watched as Bill searched around inside his backpack. He could feel a drop of sweat make its way down his back.

And wasn't _that_ fun, he thought. Now I have to try and deal with utter terror _and_ an itch.

He frowned when Bill's expression relaxed as if he'd found what he was looking for – but then all he pulled out was a pack of cigarettes. Shawn would definitely _not_ have taken the guy for a smoker. He didn't have discolored fingers or teeth and his breath hadn't smelled of tobacco when he'd leaned closer. So why did he have –

Ah hell! He wouldn't, would he? Shawn's mind flipped back to the pictures of Bill's little girl and he couldn't help but remember the small round burns on her chest. He groaned. He had a very bad feeling about this.

"There it is!" Bill looked pleased as he pulled out a lighter.

"Uh – I hate to be a nagging Nellie, but cigarette smoking is bad for you Bill. You might want to consider the patch. I've heard it works wonders. In fact, I'd be happy to try it for you if you'd -" His voice faded as Bill turned, a faraway look in his eyes.

The other man slowly set both the cigarettes and lighter down on the table and reached into his pocket. Shawn could see his jaw clench and then his hand was slowly removed, holding on to a small object. He couldn't see what it was as Bill's hand was clutched tightly around it.

The man carefully opened his hand and looked down. A second later a single tear made its way down his cheek. "I got her this for her fifth birthday", he said softly. "She was so excited to have a real 'grown-up' necklace. My wife said she was too young – that she'd lose it – but she didn't. It was still around her neck when they found her."

Shawn blinked rapidly, hating the anguish he could hear in the other man's voice – and hating the thought of what had been done to that innocent little girl. "I'm sure she took special care of it", he told the other man gently. "She was a beautiful little girl."

Bill nodded, clutching again at the little silver heart pendant – the picture of a grieving father, a man devastated by loss.

With a suddenness that shocked Shawn, that changed. As Bill lifted his eyes he could see anger – no _fury_ – on the man's face, fury and something more, something ugly. He tried pushing himself back in his chair, anything to get away from emotions that he knew were not going to be good news for him at all.

"It was your fault", Bill hissed, dropping the necklace on the table as if it didn't matter anymore. "Your fault she's dead – that my little girl, my angel went through that. You promised – and you killed her."

"Whoa – wait, wait. I didn't kill her Bill. Remember, you just met me. I didn't have anything to do with her death. In fact, I feel terrible about it – it's a horrible thing and you have my sincere sympathy -"

"I DON'T WANT YOUR SYMPATHY", Bill shrieked, rushing up to Shawn and grabbing him by the arms. He leaned over and hissed into his face - "You're a liar and a fraud – and I'm going to prove it!" With that he turned back to the table and fumbled with the cigarette carton, pulling one out and practically ripping it in two. He reached in for a second one, his hands shaking wildly and put it in his mouth. Reaching for the lighter he tried to light it, his hands still shaking almost uncontrollably.

Oh God – the man wasn't just grieving, realized Shawn, he was stark raving mad! He didn't know what the guy wanted – one moment he seemed to want Shawn to solve the case – and the next he accused him of killing his daughter. It didn't make any sense and he had to get out of this – had to do something quickly. He looked around desperately. There had to be something – some way of escape. He began pulling on his arms, attempting to loosen the tape, but it held fast. That wasn't going to work so instead he had to try and convince Bill to let him go – that he didn't know anything about his daughter's death.

"Uh Bill", he panted, trying to keep his voice steady as the man continued to try and light the cigarette. It was very obvious he wasn't a smoker since he was having so much trouble. Good – that was good. "Bill – I think you've got the wrong idea here. I want to help you – I really do – but this isn't the way. Let's just calm down and talk about it and I'll see what I can do to help. I'm really good at solving puzzles – maybe if you tell me -"

"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT _UP_!" Bill finally had the cigarette lit and he turned to Shawn, his eyes wild. "You killed her – it was your fault!" He leaned forward and grabbed the top of Shawn's shirt and ripped it open.

For some reason, it seemed as the sound of the ripping shirt caused Bill's mood to change with a suddenness that was shocking. From fury that was barely contained, he shifted to a cold, deadly calm. It happened in mere seconds – and again threw Shawn. He wasn't sure what to make of what was happening, although he knew the man in front of him was crazy as a pancake.

"Now I'm going to give you a chance to prove you're not a fake. I tried once all ready, but you failed that test", he laughed. "So now you are going to channel my daughter and tell me who did this to her." He leaned over and placed the cigarette on the table. Shawn didn't know what the hell was happening, but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Bill drop the tiny hot tourch. He prayed that Bill had changed his mind and was willing to talk, or to let Shawn try and figure things out. Although how in hell he was going to do that he didn't know, especially since the only clues he would get would be from a crazy man.

After letting go of the burning cigarette, Bill reached out and picked up his daughter's necklace and, with rock steady hands, opened the chain. He moved again towards Shawn and, bending over, placed it around Shawn's neck, doing up the clasp and stepping back.

"Now you're close to her", he whispered. "That will stay there until you tell me."

"Uh – tell you?"

The other man's eyes narrowed. "Who killed her."

"Okay – yeah – fine." He glanced down at the chain, which barely made it around his neck. In fact he could feel the cool metal straining against his neck. He swallowed. There was something horrifying to him about wearing a necklace while knowing that the last person to have work it was a little girl who'd died a terrible death.

"Now …."

Crap – Bill reached for the cigarette and brought it towards Shawn. He was still calm – an unnatural calm that was more frightening than his anger. "Now - you will tell me …"

Shawn started to scream.

* * *

Henry was just about to jump out of his skin. He hadn't heard anything yet from Lassiter and instead had had to watch Gus pacing back and forth across his kitchen for what felt like hours. He'd tried getting the man to sit – but that only lasted a few brief moments. He'd always accused Shawn of being the hyperactive one and of dragging poor Gus around with him. He was suddenly realizing that Gus was as hyper – if not more so – than his son.

"For God's sake Guster – _settle down_. This is not helping. We'll hear soon enough."

"But I'm sure something's happened Mr. Spencer, otherwise why wouldn't they have called. Oh God – they broke into his apartment and found him lying, almost dead on the floor. They probably had to do CPR because his heart stopped then and they got it started in the nick of time but then they had to wait for the paramedics to take him and they followed them to the hospital where they're waiting to hear if he's survived. What if he doesn't sur -"

"STOP it Gus!" Henry stood up, wanting to hit the other man. "Will you please shut up! First, if they'd found Shawn hurt or – otherwise, they would have called me instantly. If they were going to the _hospital_, they would have called me. But Shawn is _not_ hurt and he is _not_ dead. He's just fine and I'm sure Lassiter will call shortly and tell us what an idiot Shawn is and that he's sitting on his couch watching some stupid show from the 1980's!" Henry stopped, out of breath, and prayed that what he'd said was the truth. Gus' words had totally freaked him out and now he was thinking the absolute worst.

"I'm sorry." Gus forced himself to sit down and looked at Henry and cursed himself again. What had he been thinking to scare Shawn's father like that? "My imagination runs away with me sometimes", he admitted.

Henry snorted. "Yeah – I've gathered that. You and Shawn are quite a pair."

"Or at least we were." There was a short silence. "I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to him. He's the closest thing I have to a brother – closer probably – and he could always count on me, but this time – this time I betrayed him."

"You did _not_ betray him Gus. You simply told him off when he was bugging you. That's only human and hell, I've done it a million times. He knows we don't really mean it."

"No – this time he did – because _I_ did. I really told him I didn't want to see him ever again, and I was serious."

Henry frowned – uncomfortable with the display of emotion on the other man's face. He could remember lots of times when the two boys, and then men, fought – but he'd never, ever heard either one of them go quite that far. "Uh – can I ask why? It seems a bit of an overreaction to him bugging you. I mean, that's pretty much what Shawn does."

"Yeah – it was." Then _he_ frowned, as he suddenly remembered something. Shawn _hadn't_ been his usual self and his bugging had been – off – somehow. It was almost as if there was something bothering him – but what. He realized then that Henry was waiting for an answer. "Oh – well, I've kind of been – you know – seeing someone", he got out in a rush.

"Seeing someone? You mean dating?"

"No, no – I mean – a professional."

"A – what kind of professional?" Henry looked at him, confused, his mind only half on the conversation, the other half wondering where in the hell Lassiter was.

"A – psychologist", Gus said quickly, his voice quavering. "After the case with Yin I was kind of – upset – and someone – one of the doctor's on my route, suggested I see someone. I started to see Dr. Evans to help with my anxiety."

"And what does he have to do with Shawn?" Henry suddenly sat back, his forehead clearing as he started to figure it out. "You told the doctor about him, didn't you?"

"Yes", the younger man admitted. "He suggested that maybe Shawn – wasn't good for me."

Henry felt a blaze of anger shoot through him, which rather surprised him considering that he'd often had the same thought. He'd also thought that Guster wasn't particularly good for Shawn, sure that the two friends acted as catalysts to each other. But still – for a doctor who'd never met his son to tell Gus to ditch him was – was practically malpractice.

"You should have told him to go to hell! My son is a good man and a good friend. The doctor is a moron."

Gus looked shocked – but after a second a small grin appeared. He'd have to tell Shawn about his father's defense – he'd be pleased. A second later the grin left his face as the worry returned. What if he never had the chance to tell Shawn anything again? And even if Shawn was okay, he couldn't very well tell him what Dr. Evans had said. He'd be crushed that Gus had gone to a psychologist and had told him about his friend.

A hand suddenly landing on his knee startled him out of his reverie. "It's okay kid", Henry said softly. "You'll be able to make it up to Shawn – soon, I'm sure. He won't hold a grudge."

"Uh – yes he will", Gus shook his head. "I mean he held a grudge against -" he stopped suddenly, realizing that he shouldn't say that to the man himself. "I hope you're right", he finished lamely. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something else, when the knock on the door interrupted him. Thank God!

Henry swiftly stood and made his way to the door. "Lassiter – O'Hara! It's about time. Come in." Without waiting for the detectives to even make it in the door he started talking again. "What did you find out? Do you know where he is? Did you get into his apartment?"

"Hold up Spencer", Lassiter held up his hand. "We'll tell you what we know, just let us get in."

"Gus, Mr. Spencer." Juliet looked at them both and said hello, her face not showing any emotion.

"Okay fine." He waited for the two to get into the kitchen, closed the door behind them and quickly walked over to face them. "So what did you find?"

"Nothing", Lassiter said. He held up his hand when Henry went to speak. "Spencer wasn't in his apartment and there was nothing there to suggest anything had happened – or that he was planning on going anywhere."

"And it took you this long to find this out?" Henry said angrily. "What the hell – did you stop for lunch on the way or something?"

"No Henry – we didn't -"

"Mr. Spencer", O'Hara interrupted quickly. "We asked the landlord to open Shawn's door, but his key didn't work. One of his neighbors said that Shawn had had the lock changed just a few days ago so we had to locate the locksmith and get him to open the door. That's what took so long."

Henry sighed and rubbed his head. "Sorry", he said grudgingly. "So nothing?"

"Well – not exactly", Lassiter admitted. "Oh, there was nothing in his room, like I said, but the locksmith told us something interesting."

"The _locksmith_? What did he have to say?"

"He told us that someone had changed the lock on Shawn's door and he couldn't get in. He'd had to call in the guy to get into his apartment. And no – before you ask – it wasn't the landlord. He didn't know anything about it. Someone else had had it done. When Shawn realized, he had the locks changed _again_. I guess he didn't want anyone out there with a key to his place.'

"You're telling me that someone changed his locks without him knowing?"

"Yeah, it looks that way."

"But that doesn't make sense. Why would someone do that?"

"I have no idea – but that's not all", Lassiter continued.

"There's more?"

"Yes", this time Juliet took up the train of the conversation. "The neighbor told us that a delivery truck dropped off a whole bunch of furniture for Shawn. He claimed he hadn't ordered it and the company eventually had to come and pick it up, but he was pretty upset about it."

"Furniture?" both Henry and Gus looked confused. "It almost sounds like someone's playing practical jokes on him. It's the sort of thing Shawn himself would do – have done."

"I can't imagine him changing anyone's locks", Lassiter disagreed. "That seems like a pretty dangerous thing to do."

"Except in this case Shawn found out instantly and immediately had them changed."

"I'm afraid I agree with Carlton", Juliet said carefully. "It may sound like nothing but practical jokes, but they're awfully big ones – and I can't imagine why anyone would to that kind of trouble or expense. Gus", she turned to Shawn's best friend. "Did he say anything to you about all of this? Was there anything else that he might have mentioned?"

Gus looked at her guiltily. "Uh – no, but I was busy studying for an interview. I didn't really talk all that much to him."

"Well then -"

"But I think he was _going_ to tell me", he interrupted her. "The last time I saw him – he seemed to want to say something and I – I cut him off."

"Oh. Uh – you don't have any idea what it was?"

"No", he shook his head. "Like I said, I was busy studying. Damn! I should have listened. If something has happened to him -"

"_If_ something has happened", interjected Henry, "then it isn't your fault Guster." He turned and faced Lassiter. "So what now? We have to find out what's going on and where he is."

Lassiter sighed, as if it pained him, but nodded. "Yes, we do. I suggest we make our way over to the Psych office and see if there's anything there. He may have left a clue."

* * *

Shawn groaned and tried to lift his head off his chest. It was surprisingly hard, and he instantly felt sick to his stomach. "That's all I need", he muttered, trying hard not to throw up.

His chest was on fire – literally _had_ been on fire, he chuckled without humor. God that had hurt. He glanced down and grimaced at the bubbling, raw flesh, feeling again like he was about to lose the contents of his stomach.

The session probably hadn't gone on for that long, although it had felt like forever and he'd lost track of how many times the sadist had put the burning tip to his skin. He knew he'd screamed like a baby, but he couldn't help it. Human skin was not meant to be torched.

"God", he hissed. It really hurt. Trying to take his mind off the pain and the fear, he again looked down at the pictures still laid out on the table in front of him. He winced when he realized what it was he was using to distract himself. The pictures were so horrible – so awful – that it was hard to comprehend. Still, maybe he could find something – anything – to appease good old Bill.

The man had left him after however long he'd spent torturing his captive. He hadn't said anything, during the session, other than 'tell me who did it'. When Shawn couldn't answer he'd gotten more vicious – moving the cigarette all around his upper chest. At one point he'd even held the burning tip to his face – making him whimper and press his head back in fear. Fortunately all Bill had done was grunt and lower the cigarette and start in on his chest again. He was pretty sure it was only because his daughter had no burns on her face that he hadn't done it. Shawn had figured out that he was following what had been done to her. The thought terrified him even more.

So – back to the pictures. He stared at each one, trying hard to ignore the subject, the little girl, and focus only on any discrepancies in the photos. Each picture was different – showing her lying in a different position. He sat up abruptly – or as much as he could while duct taped to the chair. "What the -?" She was dressed differently in each picture as well. It dawned on him then – these weren't crime scene photos at all. They hadn't been taken by the police or the coroner – they had been taken by the kidnapper. He squinted down at one of the pictures carefully and –

"Oh God!" He closed his eyes. In one of the pictures, at least, she hadn't even been dead. The nausea ratcheted up a notch and he could no longer hold it back. The gorge rose in his throat and the next moment he was heaving all over his burnt chest – and did that ever feel good.

"Dad – Gus", he whispered when it was done. "Lassy – please, _someone_, find me!"


	5. Sharp Pointy Objects

_**A bit of a short one tonight - I got too tired and had to close down**_

"Anything?" Juliet was checking in the kitchen area, doubtful that she'd find anything but not wanting to miss an important clue just in case. Gus was looking around his desk, Lassiter over in their 'waiting room' and Henry checking Shawn's desk.

"There's something here", Henry pulled open a drawer and pulled out notepad. The writing was Shawn's, but looked unusually organized for him. The points were numbered, and there were little hand drawn diagrams in the columns. "What the hell?"

"What is it?" Lassiter hurried back into the room. "What did you find?"

Henry was staring at the page looking as if he couldn't quite understand what was written on it.

"_Henry_!" Lassiter said sharply. "What does it say?"

Instead of answering, the older Spencer simply handed over the tablet. Juliet was looking worried, as was Gus, who sidled over to stand next to her. "What? What is it?"

"Spencer", Lassiter looked up. "I assume this is his writing?"

"Yeah", Henry nodded.

"Well, Spencer has jotted down a bunch of notes. It seems to be referring to a number of incidents over the past couple of weeks, followed by a list of possible things he looked like he was planning on doing." Lassiter frowned. "Did you know about this Guster?" He passed over the pad of paper.

"No – he didn't say anything", Gus answered. "I mean, he gets weird stuff all the time but he usually just laughs at it. I don't know why he didn't tell me about these." He looked down at the page and quickly read them, his face blanching at what he read. Immediately his guilt skyrocketed. He suddenly thought back to the last time he'd seen his friend. Shawn had wanted to talk to him about something – this is probably what it was. "Oh God", he dropped the pad of paper and grabbed his head. "What did I _do_?"

"Maybe", Lassiter answered, "although we'll have to find out much more. These could mean nothing – simply a nasty prank."

"You'll check them out?" Henry said sharply.

"Of course. We'll take them in and have them dusted for fingerprints. We'll also read them over carefully to see if there are any clues in what this guy's written."

"What does it say?" Juliet asked, the only one not to have read Shawn's notes.

Gus handed the paper back to Lassiter, who read it out loud.

Felt like I was being followed but didn't see anyone. Strange.

Tripped – no one suspicious

Furniture delivery and changed locks – prank or more serious?

Alone on beach – hit across the back. No one there

Phone calls – threatening. No clues as to who

Last call – threatened to kill me

What I should do?

Talk to Gus. Important interview – too busy. Don't bother him

Talk to Jules - mad at me (_beside this were a series of little hearts drawn which Lassiter didn't mention, nor did he mention the sad face that was drawn after that._

Talk to police – Lassy? – he'd laugh and tell me I'm ridiculous. _This line had a teeny stick figure obviously holding a gun and a deep scowl on its face. _

Captain Vick? – mad at me _another sad face_

Dad? – last resort. He'll say it's: my fault; I asked for it; I'm irresponsible; imaging it; take it to police _This was a picture of a stick figure with a scowl, holding what Lassiter thought must be a fishing rod_

Other? Handle it myself. _The last point was circled and followed by an exclamation mark._

"None of us were there for him", Juliet said quietly. "I told him to go away."

"So did I O'Hara. It wasn't your fault. Shawn would be enough to drive a saint crazy. How could we know that he really needed our help?" Lassiter was trying to help, but by her expression, and every else's, he wasn't doing a stellar job at it.

"Because he asked us?" Gus said quietly. He looked over at Shawn's father and was surprised to see a look he couldn't fatham cross the older man's face. At that moment Henry looked up and caught his eye.

"He shouldn't have been afraid to tell me", he said simply. "What kind of father am I?"

"One who loves his son", Gus told him. "We'll find him." Unfortunately that last line was said more as a question than an assurance. He was terrified.

"O'Hara and I are going to take this down to the station and see if we can find anything on anyone that would want to hurt Spencer. Henry, you and Gus keep looking here, and try and think if there's anything – anything at all – that you can remember. There's got to be a clue somewhere.

* * *

Shawn forced himself to look at the photos again. There was something about them that bothered him – something besides the horrific subject matter – but he just couldn't seem to figure it out. That may have been because he felt sick and his chest was in agony. He knew he was suffering from mild shock and tried to remember about burns. He'd read that if they covered more than a certain percentage of your skin it was really dangerous. Although the burns covered a good six inch square of chest, he hoped that because each individual burn was small, it wouldn't be as bad as the entire area was burned. Still – even if he wasn't that bad off in the grand scheme of things, it hurt like hell.

He tried to refocus his eyes, positive that dear old Bill would be back soon. He had to figure out what it was about the pictures that disturbed him. There was a clue here, he was sure of it. Now all he had to do was find it!

He realized a moment later that it wasn't just the pain that was distracting him. He was horribly thirsty – so much so that it was almost worse than the pain. And on top of all that, he had to pee really, really badly.

"You're already thrown up all over yourself", he muttered, "so what difference will it make if you whizz in your pants?" Except it _did_ make a difference. It didn't matter that he was being held by a madman, or that he was probably going to die without ever seeing his friends or family again – the thought of wetting his pants was horrifying. He laughed ironically. The things a person thinks are important! It was just that it was too big a societal taboo and he really didn't want to break it. Except if he didn't get relief soon, he'd end up having no choice.

"Photos, photos, photos", he muttered, trying to keep his mind off his body. "What is it about you - ?"

"Shawn!" Bill opened the door quietly and Shawn jumped at his voice. "Hey- you're so jumpy. What's wrong?"

He looked at Bill incredulously. "Uh – I'm tied up and you're torturing me – _that's_ what's wrong."

"Torture? No, no, - _that_ wasn't torture. There was just a little prodding to get your psychic juices flowing. I can show you _real_ torture."

"No – no that's okay", Shawn rushed in quickly. "I'm fine. I think I've got it – NO – I _have _got it."

"Got what?" the other man asked pleasantly. He then glanced down at the table and his face instantly clouded up. "You've got the answer", Bill stated. "So tell me – who killed her?"

"No – I don't have the answer – not yet. But I'm getting closer", he shouted as Bill advanced at him angrily. "I was just - uh – letting the spirits wash over me when you came in."

"And what did they say?" God the guy's voice was creepy, thought Shawn. It sounds way too normal for the guy to be – well – _normal_

"They told me that these pictures were taken by the kidnapper -"

"Murderer", hissed Bill. "He was her murderer."

"I'm sorry – murderer. Am I right? He was the one who took them."

"Yes – yes, that god-damned bastard sent us one every day. My wife practically went insane."

Shawn briefly closed his eyes, unable to imagine the pain of that. No wonder this poor guy was crazy. How could anyone deal with that kind of thing happening to their child?

"And what did the police find out."

"Not a thing. They were useless. That's why we -"

"Why you?"

"Shut up", growled Bill. "Just shut up. I need you to tell me who killed her and as soon as you've done that I'll find him and then he'll wish he'd never been born."

"I can – ur – kind of relate", Shawn whispered. He was terribly disturbed when his abductor just smiled.

"So – what can we do to prod your memory this time", he asked, turning toward the backback and opening up the top. "Let's see – what's next?"

"Hey – you don't have to do this", begged Shawn. "I'm trying to help here and but I won't be able to if you continue to hurt me. Please, don't do it."

"You should have thought of that before you told me you could find her, before you promised. You shouldn't have promised. It was all lies – you're nothing but a con man."

"I – but I didn't promise to find her. I'm afraid you have me confused -"

The blow knocked his head back against the hard wooden chair – again. "Ow", he said, although softly. He didn't want to tick this guy off anymore, or he'd end up with a serious head injury – if he didn't have one already."

"You promised! But I knew you were a fake. That's why I gave you a test – to see if you'd pass it. I knew you wouldn't – I knew you'd fail!"

"Test? What test are you talking about?" Shawn hoped that if he kept the guy talking he'd eventually have to leave, or simply give up.

"To see if you really are psychic", Bill told him, sounding totally reasonable. He continued to peer into the bag as if he was having trouble deciding.

Shawn tried to think of some test that he supposedly failed, but couldn't think of a thing. Nothing particularly interesting had happened, other than the Scheffer case and the fact that he was being stalked by a madmen. So what could it -. Wait! Hell no – it couldn't be, could it? He wouldn't do that just to prove a point – would he?"

He looked over at the insane man who finally reached in and pulled something out with his hand.

"No", he whispered. He stared at the knife as if mesmerized. God how he hated sharp, pointy things.

"So now – you can prove to me once and for all you weren't lying by finding her!" Bill spoke softly, almost gently. "You don't want me to have to use this, do you?"

"No – no I don't. In fact, I think you should put it back in the backpack and instead we can talk about the latest baseball scores. Did you see those Dodgers? They look awesome this year. I wouldn't be surprised if they make it to the World Series."

Bill shook his head and took a step, then another, then another towards Shawn. "I don't care about baseball", he hissed. "I want you to tell me who he is?"

Shawn didn't know what to do. The man was so far beyond crazy that he didn't know how much it would help him even if he _did_ know something. "I need more time", he said desperately. "If you bring all the materials from the case – or at least anything you have, it will help me to figure it out – uh – _divine_ the answer."

"I think maybe I need to go digging for it." Bill held up the knife and stared at it. "I think this might do just fine." He looked down, straight into Shawn's face. "Unless you tell me now."

Shawn could feel himself shaking – and wasn't sure if it was as a result of the burns and head injury or whether it was pure terror. He finally decided it was both. He tried to think, but he was so confused. Why did the guy keep switching back and forth between wanting Shawn to find his daughter and then her killer? Was there something that was making him do that or was he just so crazy he didn't even know what reality he was in?

"Uh – do you want me to find your daughter or her – kidnapper", he finally asked, hoping to snap the guy out of whatever state he was in.

The man's hand flashed in front of him. It all happened so fast that it took a few seconds before Shawn realized he was bleeding from two knife wounds – one on each arm. He stared down at them for a moment watching the blood slowly ooze and then drip down his arms.

"I want you to tell me what you know psychic!" Bill whispered. "You claim to be able to know things – then prove it to me!"

"I – I can't do it like – aaargh!" The knife flashed again, leaving two more cuts a bare inch above the first one.

"Yes. You. Can", Bill told him, his eyes narrowed and his face pale. "Who killed her? Tell me – who was it who destroyed my life. I want to know!" Again and again the knife flashed, cutting more and more of Shawn's arms until he could barely see skin for all the blood.

"STOP! STOP!", he screamed. "Stop doing that – I can't think – I can't – oh God", he sobbed, "please stop."

Bill got a strange smile on his face and leaned forward, pressing the tip of the knife directly under Shawn's left eye. "Do you need your eyes to 'see', Shawn? Can you still tell the truth – can you still _feel_ what happened? You don't need your sight, do you?"

"Yes", Shawn spoke softly, afraid to cause the man's hand to move. "Yes, I need it. That's – that's how my power works", he hasped out. His head was throbbing, his chest was burning as if it had been doused in acid, and now his arms throbbed like crazy. He was pretty sure they'd do more than throb in a few minutes.

"That's how your power works?" Bill asked curiously, sitting back and removing the knife.

Shawn breathed a sigh of relief and tried to relax. "Uh – yeah. I receive psychic visions through the things I see. For example, I'm getting some sense of the kidnapper by looking at those but I need more."

"More?" Bill's eyes narrowed. He still held the dripping knife although he didn't seem to be aware of that fact.

"Yes – if you could bring me anything else I might be able to read the clues. I know there's something here – I've 'felt' it already. It's as if the spirits want me to find him, but are telling me there's more."

Bill continued to regard him and then finally nodded. He carefully set the knife down on the table and then slowly walked towards the door. "I'll give you a bit more time. When I come back you'd better have something for me."

"Right – Kay – I will", Shawn called after him, trying to sound confident. Instead he had gone beyond terror into a new realm of fear. He could tell he was starting to hyperventilate and concentrated on slowing down his breathing. It was hard though – he was in too much pain and fear to control it completely.

He looked down again at his arms, slightly alarmed at how much blood he'd lost, and was continuing to lose. Crap – this could be bad.

And then there was the problem of dehydration and the fact that he still had to pee. Drat –he should have said something. Right – as if the man who just tortured you is going to release you and let you go to the bathroom!

He could feel himself growing faint and knew he was on the verge of passing out. But then Bill's words came back to him and he knew he couldn't afford to do that. He had to figure this out.

He forced his head up and looked over at the table with all the photos. There had to be _something_ there – he just knew it.

"Holy crap", he finally murmured after almost two hours. "That's _it_."


	6. NumbXXrs

_**Sorry for the delay in posting. I've been home sick with flu. I apologize if this is a bit of a confusing chapter - it was a bit tricky trying to explain working out the clues. Hope no one hated it! Reviews and comments (constructive and all) much appreciated.**_

Gus was worried. After Lassiter and O'Hara left, Henry continued to sit at Shawn's desk looking pale and – old. Well, he sort of thought of the man as old already but not _that_ kind of old. I mean – he had always been old to Gus but now he looked like – like his grandfather kind of old.

"Uh – Mr. Spencer?"

"Henry", said the man, not glancing up.

"Yeah – okay – Henry. We should – uh – do something?"

Henry slowly lifted his head, and stared at Gus, although his eyes looked unfocused. "What? What can we do?" With those soft, and almost hopeless words, his head dropped down as if suddenly too heavy to hold up. With a bitter laugh he then reached out for the pineapple shaped stress ball on Shawn's desk and picked it up. A small square of paper was stuck to the bottom and he reached out to pull it away when a word caught his eye.

"What?" He dropped the pineapple ball and unfolded the paper, quickly reading it. "What the hell?" He stood up suddenly, the chair flipping over behind him.

"What is it?" Gus hurried over. "Mr. – Henry, what is it? Is it something Shawn left?" He wanted to scream at the man for not answering immediately, but then the older man held out the paper. Gus took it, almost fearfully, and looked down.

_You failed Psychic and now you are going to die – just like she did – a slow and painful death._

Gus looked up, the blood leaching from his face. Grabbing the side of the desk he held out the paper. "Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't he say anything?"

"I think he already told us why", Henry said softly. He laughed. "You were too busy and he expected me to just tell him off. He reached out Gus but we didn't listen, and now some sicko has my son." He leaned on the desk, looking as if he was going to get sick. After a few deep breaths though, he stood up, a new expression on his face.

Although Gus was terrified – more afraid then he could remember being – that look gave him his first sense of hope, for written across the older man's face was a look of fierce determination.

"I'm gonna find this bastard Gus – I'm gonna find him and kill him – and I'm going to get my son back."

"I'll be right there with you Sir", Gus said softly.

Henry glanced up at him and gave him a small smile. "I know you will be son."

"So what now?" Gus stood up straight. He may not have been there for Shawn before, but damn it – he was now.

"Now? We go to the police with this, and then we start looking."

* * *

"But what does it mean that he 'failed'?" Juliet asked, for about the tenth time. "Failed at _what_?"

"I don't _know_", Henry rubbed his head. "Gus, did you and Shawn have a case that didn't work out? Something where you – he couldn't find the answer?"

Gus frowned. "No, not that I know of. Shawn is really good a figuring – I mean you know – the spirits always give him the answer so – no."

"There has to be something Guster", Lassiter scowled. "He can't have a hundred percent success rate – no one does."

"Shawn does", Gus answered simply.

"Oh for justice' sake" Lassiter sputtered. "You're telling me there wasn't one little thing – one teeny tiny time that Spencer didn't figure out who did it?"

"Well – okay, maybe", Gus finally admitted.

"There", Lassiter smiled. "I knew it. What was it? A murder? A kidnapping? Come on – tell us?"

"Uh – he never figured out who injected his pineapple with hot sauce when we were at camp."

There was silence in the room. Juliet was biting her lip, Henry looked surprised and Lassiter – poor Lassiter – looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel. "His _pineapple?_"

"Uh – yeah. He brought a pineapple to summer camp and told everyone he was going to cut it up and share it with them. On the second day he cut it all up while we watched and then took the first bite. I thought he was going to – uh" he glanced at Henry – "uh throw up. It was filled with _really_ hot sauce."

"And he never found out who did it? Shawn? Really?" Juliet sounded surprised. "Wasn't he psychic as a kid?"

Henry looked even more surprised. That was a question no one had ever asked before. "No – no that was something he – discovered – later", his loving father said quietly.

"And he never figured out who did it? That doesn't sound like the Shawn I know." Juliet stopped and frowned. She then turned to Gus. "Wait. it was you – wasn't it?"

This time it was Gus who looked surprised – and guilty. "Wait, how did you -" he stopped dead, realizing that he'd given himself away.

"Because Shawn wouldn't have suspected his best friend. Why did you do it?"

Gus shrugged. "I tried to play jokes on Shawn all the time at home, but he always knew, and he could always get me. At the same time we had a deal that we wouldn't do anything to each other when others were around – it was kind of a – a rule. I guess I figured this was one chance I had to really get him." Suddenly he looked terrible. "I guess I have a habit of betraying him."

"Enough!" Henry stood up. "Don't be ridiculous Gus", he said. "That wasn't betrayal – that was a joke when you were ten. And we're getting off the point here. In case all of you have forgotten, my son is _missing_ and the kidnapper sounds like a homicidal maniac. Whether or not you booby trapped his pineapple over 20 years ago is irrelevant right now."

"Exactly", Carlton stood up as well. "And the point is, Spencer had to have failed at _something – recently - _and it made this guy mad, so until we find out what that was, we don't have anything in the way of a clue."

"That's not true", his loyal partner said, much to the Chief Detective's irritation. "The note also said he was going to – uh – "

"Die?" Henry said quietly.

Juliet nodded. " - _like she did_.' What does that mean? Like _who_?"

Again there was silence.

"Could it relate to how he supposedly failed? Did Shawn have anything to do with a case where a woman died and someone saw that as a failure?" Lassiter frowned in thought. Actually, he frowned all the time but this time he _was_ concentrating.

"That she died?" Juliet pursed her lips and considered that.

"Possibly."

"Or that he couldn't discover who killed her?" Henry interjected.

They all sat and tried to think of a case – any case – where a woman had died or where Shawn could possibly have done something that the kidnapper could have blamed him for.

"Detective", Henry looked at Juliet. "Why don't we have someone pull all the cases where a woman died – as well as any department cold cases?"

"How far back?"

"From when Spencer started working here?" Lassiter said.

"No", Gus shook his head. "He called in lots of tips long before he worked here."

"But would the kidnapper know that?"

Gus shrugged. "How many cases could there be?"

"Unsolved murders of women? I don't know – lots probably."

"So let's pick a time – say ten years?" Henry suggested. "I doubt it would go much farther back."

"And the note said she'd suffered a 'slow and painful death'" Juliet looked sick as she said that. "So it can't have been a quick accident or anything like that."

"Alright", Lassiter said, taking control. "We'll have Buzz check out all the deaths of women from the last ten years that were not – quick and relatively painless with special attention to any that are unsolved, is that right."

The others were silent, obviously in agreement, so he gave a swift nod and turned to tell Buzz. Just as he walked away Gus spoke.

"And girls", he said softly.

"What?" Carlton scowled at him. "That's what I said."

"No, you said 'women'. It could have been a girl – a child, not a woman. The note only said 'she'."

"Right", Lassiter pursed his lips and gave another nod, then left to find Gus.

"Are we really going to find anything like this?" Gus looked at Henry and Juliet. "I mean, what are the chances?"

"Gus, you know as well as I do that this is the only thing we have to go on right now. It may not be a lot, but it's something and Chief Vick has offered us all the help she can. In the meantime, why don't you check out any of Shawn's other friends and acquaintances and see if anything comes up?" Juliet walked up and laid her hand gently on his shoulder.

Gus nodded and stood slowly. He considered Shawn's father and former cop – and Juliet, the woman his friend was crazy about and whom he trusted implicitly. "Okay – call if you find out anything."

"We will Gus – don't worry – we will."

* * *

He should have seen it instantly. It was the sort of thing he usually didn't miss. He guessed he could excuse it on the fact that he was hurt and in pain – and terrified to the point of paralysis. He cracked a broken laugh at suddenly hearing his father's voice telling him he was just making excuses. He _should_ have seen it.

The pictures – it was in the pictures but he just hadn't noticed. He was also pretty sure that the police hadn't either. And if they _had_ it must not have led to anything because, according to Bill, the pervert who killed his daughter had not been caught.

So okay, now that he sees it – what does it _mean_? He tilted his head to look at them differently, but all that did was make him dizzier than he already was. He had grown steadily weaker as the time went by from a combination of blood loss and dehydration. His bladder was also about ready to burst, which made it much harder to concentrate. He hoped Bill would come back and at least offer him a bottle to pee into if not an actual break.

Okay Shawn – again, what does it mean? It was just a series of random letters that meant nothing and he was going to die because he couldn't figure it out! He closed his eyes and concentrated. He had to figure it out.

At first when he'd looked at the photographs the killer had sent, all he could see was an innocent child, cruelly tortured and murdered. He didn't see much else. It was only when he realized the pictures had been taken at different times that he realized. They're weren't just pictures meant to torture the parents, they were _clues_. Clues to what he didn't know – maybe the kidnappers name or location? All he knew was that once he looked beyond the person in the picture he began to see the patterns her body made. The pervert had posed her body to form shapes. After a few long minutes he'd realized the shapes were letters.

He'd been excited at first but then, once he'd deciphered them it hadn't meant anything to him. They were random letters meaning nothing.

So what had he ended up with? Nothing but ii xxxx nn c l. He tried moving them around, sounding them out and even seeing if they were abbreviations like in that license plate game he and Gus used to play. But nothing made any sense.

Except there was something – something on the edge of his mind that was picking at him. He _knew_ those letters, they _meant _something and it was there somewhere.

He whimpered – he couldn't do it. He hurt too much. "Please", he whispered. "Please Dad, Gus, someone – help me."

"_Come on Shawn", Gus' voice told him. "You know this. I told you about this, explained it to you. You remember, don't you? Come on. You remember everything."_

"But I don't Gus – please, I forgot. Just tell me again."

"_No Shawn, that's not how we play this game. I told you once now you have to remember or I win and I get all your games and your Baywatch poster of Pamela Anderson."_

"Not Pamela Dude – never."

"_Yup, cause you'll be dead Shawn and I get everything. So you'd better remember."_

"But I _can't_."

"_What have I always told you Shawn?"_ his father's voice took over where Gus' had left off. "_You'll always be a failure because of that attitude. The only way you'll ever succeed is if you keep trying. Whining and giving up will just make you dead and then who will clean the garage? And I'll just have to give all your stuff to Ernie's kid Albert."_

"No – you can't give it to _Albert_. God Dad – he's a – a tattletale. He's the one that always lied to get Gus and me into trouble."

"_Sorry kiddo – that's what happens when you give up."_

"I don't _know_", he cried. "I don't know what it means."

"_That's right Spencer. You always were a screw up. If you weren't you'd remember. But I knew you weren't really a psychic all along. You're just a fake and I'm gonna make sure that your name and picture hang in the precinct for all to see. Underneath it we'll write LOSER – cause that's what you are."_

"I'm not a loser Lassie – I've solved dozens of cases with you – you know I have. We're friends Lassie – even if I tease you sometimes and you pretend you don't like me. Come on, I really can't remember!"

"_Of course you do Shawn." Juliet's soft voice spoke this time. "You know it – or at least that's what you told me. You don't want me to think you're a liar do you Shawn? I couldn't love a man who was a liar. If you don't know then I think I'll have to call Cameron Luntz. He still loves me and he would know."_

There was no way in hell Juliet was going to go back to that old, arrogant day old prune muffin, Cameron. He _had_ to remember. For Jules he could do it. Think Shawn – relax and think.

He had a series of letters – why did they seem familiar? There were 'I's' and 'x's' and an 'L' – wait – he'd made all the letters small – he couldn't tell from the photos – but the 'L' was a capital, otherwise it would have looked like an 'I' and he already had 'I's'. He shook his head. Okay – again _think_. If the letters are capitals, what did that give him?

He slowly opened his eyes and again went through each of the letters. This time he pictured them all in caps. II XXXX NN C L. He squinted, as if that could make him think more clearly – _see_ more clearly. It was starting to come but there was still something wrong – something off.

His head jerked back. That was it – not 'N's' but 'M's', that was it. It was almost impossible to make an 'M' with a human body but the killer had tried, Shawn had simply misread it. So now what did he have: II XXXX MM C L. That was _it_ – they weren't letters they were _numbers_ – Roman numerals! The killer had left a clue of numbers. But great – _now_ all he had to do was remember what they were.

"Crap", he muttered. Why hadn't he paid more attention when Gus had tried to explain Roman numerals to him? Just picture something that has a date on it – that's right – old movies use Roman numerals. Think Shawn, think of an old movie and remember the date at the end.

He kept his eyes closed as he tried to picture an old movie – but which one. There were so many. There was Wizard of Oz – no, no, too juvenile. There had to be something better than that. How about Gone With the Wind – chick flick –nope. I know, I know – North by Northwest – that was it. Classic Hitchcock movie. Now think Shawn – remember the credits.

Suddenly, without warning he could see the end of the movie. He often cursed his memory but right now he could have cried his gratitude. _"Yes_" he hissed. He could picture it: MCMLIX. And the movie was made in 1959, _that_ he clearly remembered. He remembered that because – oh hell, because of something he couldn't care less about right now.

So if MCMLIX was 1959 then M equaled 1000, C – what the hell was C? It couldn't be 900 – that didn't make sense. He could almost feel Gus swat him on the side of the head.

"Okay, okay – so how did the stupid Romans do numbers? "Yes", suddenly he remembered. They sort of subtracted. So M was 1000 and 2 'M's would be 2000 – but this was _19_59 – _not_ 2000. So that means 'C' is taken away from 'M' and 'C' is –

"_It's 100 Shawn_", the disgusted voice of his father broke in.

"_Gotcha!"_ He wished Gus were here for a fist bump – not that he could have done one anyway, not with his hands tied and his arms all chewed up and bloody – but – forget that Shawn. So he had 'M' equals 1000, 'C' is 100. Now, what about 'L'? That was easy, he almost smiled. 'L' had to be 50. That simply left I and X and he knew those. I is one and X is ten. And 'I' before 'X' made a 9. He was doing it now.

Except that left another problem. What order were the numbers in? He thought back to the numbers made by the girl's body and tried to figure out their order.

A date – that was logical based on the numbers that were there. With the 'M's' and the 'C' it had to be a year date – that would help because it would remove a bunch of the numbers and then he should be able to figure out the rest. He slowly worked it through in his mind – even though he was getting more and more tired. The initial rush of the discovery was wearing off and he didn't know how much longer he could keep going.

"That's it", he whispered. "1969". Okay so something took place that year, something important. But when that year? What letters are left?" He'd removed MCMLXIX so that only left 'I', 'X' and a second 'X'. So, the number could be a 9 and a 10 or a 1, 10, 10 or a 10 and an 11. Damn – there was no way of telling, unless …. He looked again at the pictures. Maybe the killer had given another clue?

"Are you ready to tell me yet?" Bill had opened the door so quietly Shawn hadn't even heard him until he spoke. He practically jumped out of his skin and did let out a small whimper. God no ….

"Almost – I almost have it", he whispered. "I – the spirits are slow today but I'm almost there. I just need a bit more time, that's -"

"I gave you almost three hours psychic", Bill said calmly. "That should have been more than enough time if you really were who you said you were. But you LIED! You always lied – you just wanted the money – you don't know who killed her. You can't FIND HIM!"

"Yes, please – I can – really – I told you – look, I figured out the pictures. They're – aargh!" He choked back a scream as Bill's hand hit him solidly in the cheek, leaving a bruise on top of the ones already there.

"Don't LIE. I'm sick of your lies. You don't KNOW. Because of you she's going to die." By this time Bill was weeping, the tears running madly down his cheeks. He frantically grabbed the backpack and reached inside, quickly rummaging around inside it.

"No please – just _listen_. I'm telling you, I know something. It's the pictures, they're numbers, Roman numbers. There's a -" his voice faded out when Bill pulled out the needle nosed pliars.

"Oh God – no – please – don't." His voice broke as he looked at them, knowing what was coming. "Please, just listen to me and I'll tell you."

Bill walked to him slowly, his eyes never leaving Shawn's hands, even though he had them tightly curled into fists. "Because of you she died", Bill murmured. "We won't find her. You told us you could – you told us you could find her and you lied and now she's going to die."

Shawn closed his eyes and let his head drop. There was no point in trying anymore. The man was so lost to reality that he flipped back and forth from one second to the next, believing one moment that his daughter was alive and Shawn was to find her – to knowing she was dead and blaming him. He whimpered again. "No", he whispered, but this time not to Bill – but to anyone, anyone at all who might be listening – who looked after fake psychics and sons and best friends and irritating co-workers and would-be boyfriends . Maybe someone, somewhere would hear him.

Bill reached out and grabbed his hand, forcing it open. Holding down his fingers he leaned forward, holding firmly onto the pliars. "This is going to hurt just a little bit", he told the tied man, a strange calmness settling on his face. "Just relax."

Moments later Shawn was praying – like he'd never done in his life – that he'd just pass out. Instead he could feel himself start to gasp and then to hyperventilate. The worst moment of all came when he felt the warmth and the wetness soak into his pants. He began to cry – the pain and the terror and now the humiliation too much to bear.

"Please", he whispered, one last time before blessed darkness overtook him.


	7. Frustration

He woke up slowly, feeling sick and disoriented – and _sick_, really, really sick. Not only that, but he could smell the odor surrounding him, which made the memory of what happened come back to him although he tried to instantly put it out of his mind.

His head was resting on his chest and he didn't have the energy, or frankly the hope, to lift it up. He hurt and he wanted his Dad and – and the tears again began to roll down his cheeks.

He couldn't bear to look at his hands, his fingers – even though the pain was so intense it was sending shooting agony up his arm. He wanted to vomit when he remembered his nails being pulled – but not just pulled. He closed his eyes and he clearly felt again the twisting, pulling, yanking of the pliers as they'd forced his nails out of his fingers. He could feel the gorge rise in his throat, unable to believe that he was actually enduring what he'd only ever read about.

It was as he tried to force himself to calm down that he realized he was shaking. He was freezing cold and the tremors were so bad they were causing the chair to move slightly. He let out a strained giggle, which frightened him – was he going insane already? He knew the shaking was partially because of cold, but mostly due to shock and wondered how much longer he could last.

He finally gathered the strength to look at his hands, only to flinch. The blood had stopped flowing from his arms but they were already totally brown with blood, which had, in turn, dripped on his pants. His fingers – God – they were curled like claws but he could see that they were raw and red – and looked like they'd been stuck in the end of a meat grinder. He wondered briefly if finger nails grew back once they'd been ripped out – and with the next thought decided it didn't really matter. He probably wouldn't live long enough for it to make a difference anyway.

He tried to shift his legs – both of which were numb but they were still taped to the chair. It was only then that he allowed himself to face the other horror, the fact that he'd actually wet himself. His pants were cold and clammy and the smell was bad. He almost laughed at himself for the blush he could feel creep up his neck. Who the hell cared that he'd peed himself? Certainly not his torturer – and no one else would know – at least not until he was dead and then he wouldn't feel embarrassment anyway.

He was pretty sure his Dad would be disgusted. He could just imagine him telling him that a Spencer would "_never wet himself Shawn. If you had become a cop you would have been able to hold it."_

He giggled again – yeah okay, he was definitely going crazy. He tried to swallow, but instead coughed. He hadn't had anything to drink in what felt like days and his mouth and throat were so dry he was sure he was going to choke. Hey – maybe he'd die of thirst and save himself any more torture.

"_Except dying of thirst __is_ _torture Shawn", _his good friend Gus made sure to point out.

"Thanks Buddy", he mumbled. "Can always count on you."

"_Of course you can Shawn – I'll always be there for you. Whoops – no I won't – I forgot. I'm not your friend anymore, which is actually kind of good because now I don't have to worry that you're missing. I can do my job and be the best pharmaceutical representative on the west coast without you around to bother me. I'm finally happy Shawn – so you see, you getting kidnapped and tortured was the best thing that could have happened to me."_

He felt like crying when he heard Gus' words, although a part of him questioned whether or not they were real. Maybe they were just in his head. Then again, he knew he had often bugged Gus and that sometimes he could be pretty selfish where his friend was concerned, but surely Gus didn't really want him to be tortured – did he?

"_Of course not Shawn", _his father said impatiently. "_Gus is too good to say those kinds of things although they are true. You have held him back. You've just never grown up, have you? You thought you could go through life simply having fun and not taking responsibility for anyone or anything including yourself. Well look what that's brought you. Here you are getting your finger nails pulled out and for what? So you can spend your life thinking about Churros and a pineapple smoothies. I'm afraid you got what you deserved son, so don't come crying to me for help this time. I've had it with you."_

"Dad? No Dad – please, you've got to help me. I'm sorry – I am, really. I'll grow up – I promise if I get out of here I will – really – please."

No one answered his cries so he continued to sit, unmoving and, he knew, slowly dying. He understood that he couldn't take much more, didn't _want_ to take any more, although he was pretty positive he had no choice anyway. He tried not to see those pictures - to know what was coming, but he couldn't help it. If there really was a merciful god, maybe he'd die before it went too much farther.

He moved restlessly, as much as he could, trying to find some position that wasn't totally excruciating. As his head moved he again caught site of the pictures. He laughed – why had he thought that actually solving something would make a difference? Bill – dear old Bill – _wanted_ to torture him. He didn't really care about finding the murderer. Still – without wanting to, Shawn's eyes and mind again returned to the mystery of the numbers. At least it would take his mind off what he was feeling.

* * *

"Any luck O'Hara?" Carlton was standing by her desk, his usually immaculate appearance somewhat lacking for once. His jacket was off and his tie had been pulled down, the top buttons of his shirt undone. What was even more surprising was that his hair was messy, as if he'd been running his hands through it. Although Juliet had known it for a long time, this proved to her that Lassiter really did care about Shawn. She knew he'd die rather than show it – but he considered Shawn a friend and a colleague and he was going to do his damnedest to find the psychic.

"No, nothing", she finally answered, just as Lassiter began to look at her strangely. "I've been through what feels like dozens of files but there's nothing. Did you get anything off any of the notes?"

"No – no finger prints, nothing. We also checked with locksmiths and with the furniture company. They have no records of anyone doing this. The furniture company claims the furniture was ordered on-line and paid for through Paypal. The credit card was a dead end – the numbers had been stolen – a case of identity theft."

"So there's nothing definite although it sounds like whoever did this had to be very smart. But why? Why would they go after Shawn? The Chief is working with Buzz to go through all of the cases Shawn has done for the SBPD and there's nothing that has come up. Either the criminals are all in jail or they have no reason to hurt him."

"I don't know O'Hara, but there has to be something. This didn't happen for no reason. We just need to keep looking."

She nodded and pulled out the next file. She glanced over at where Henry was sitting at another desk, carefully going through more files. He'd said nothing in the hours they'd been searching, simply getting up occasionally for another cup of coffee or trip to the men's room.

She sighed and rubbed her hand through her hair. There _had_ to be something. If only Shawn were here he would find it – it's what he did best. She laughed ironically. Yeah – and if he were here then they wouldn't need him. God, to think the only person who seemed capable of solving this crime was the victim himself. No! She was a detective – a damn good one. She could do this. For Shawn she _would_ do it. It was not going to end here, not before they had a chance. She'd waited, had let things go because she thought there was time. Well time had run out and she was going to get him back.

Lassiter couldn't remember the last time he felt so angry or so frustrated. How in hell did the psychic – the _fake_ psychic get himself into these situations? Lassiter's life had been clear before Spencer had arrived. He'd had a crappy marriage and was having an affair with his partner – but those things were normal. At least he'd never worried about his job or his skills. He came to work, was the best detective the department had, solved crimes the way they were supposed to be solved, and went home. _That's_ how it was supposed to be.

And then Shawn Spencer had flung his way into his life. He'd hopped and danced and twirled and _pseudo-divined_ his way into the life of the station. He'd pulled the wool over everyone's eyes, had made Lassiter's life hell and had solved crimes that should have been _his_ to solve. He'd laughed and teased and irritated and driven him crazy – so why was he working so hard to get the idiot back?

Well, Spencer _was_ a civilian and it was Lassiter's duty to protect civilians. He pulled another file, wanting to leave it at that, but the small voice in the back of his head that refused to let him lie to himself told him that that wasn't the _only_ reason. He'd grown – accustomed – to having Spencer around. It wasn't that he'd really miss him – hell no – but he did make life more interesting. And O'Hara seemed to like him – too much if Lassiter had anything to say about it.

And of course he brought occasional comic relief. Lassiter practically grinned when he remembered Spencer channeling the cat. And okay – so he had helped – a tiny bit – on occasion. Still, he really wasn't –

"GOD DAMN IT!" He threw the files on the floor. "There's nothing here! Why can't we find the damn man? There has to be something here."

Juliet looked up in shock, unused to see Carlton so outwardly upset. She noticed that Henry too looked up – but the small smile on his face suddenly reminded her of Shawn and she had to look away.

"It's there Lassiter", Henry said softly, standing up and walking over. "We're just not looking for the right things. We have to go back to the beginning and consider all angles, even those we've ignored or didn't think likely."

"_What_ angles?" Carlton said in frustration. "We're just looking for any woman – or girl – who was killed. That's a pretty broad angle. And okay – so we're trying to find a tie in with Sp- ur Shawn – but what if there isn't a tie in? What if there's nothing?"

The other two looked at him in surprise although in Henry's case that quickly turned to an arrested expression. "Wait – maybe that's it."

"What?" Juliet's brow crinkled in confusion. "What's 'it'?"

"Maybe this doesn't – didn't have anything to do with Shawn."

"I think the notes and this guy's actions proved otherwise Henry." Lassiter was shaking his head.

"No – I mean yes, he went after Shawn – but what if the original crime had nothing to do with him. What if he'd just picked Shawn for some other reason? I mean, it could have been that the guy simply saw him coming out of the police station or – hell, something else."

"But why Shawn and not someone involved in whatever crime was committed – or unsolved? Wouldn't a police officer be more logical? Or even a lawyer or prosecutor – someone like that."

Henry began to pace in the small office. "What's the one thing that's different about Shawn?"

Lassiter opened his mouth but at O'Hara's sharp look he closed it, although it looked like it was killing him to do so.

"He's a psychic", Juliet answered, her eyes round. "Could that be it? But – but what would that have to do with anything? And anyway – Shawn's been totally successful with all the crimes he's investigated. He hasn't failed."

"No – but what if someone else did?"

"Another psychic?" Lassiter began to shake his head. "Come on Henry – you're reaching. How in the world – _why_ in the world would there be another psychic and if there was, this guy wouldn't have confused them."

"No – maybe not." Henry sighed and again rubbed his head. "But at least let's check it out. There has to be _something_. I just know it."

Juliet glanced at Carlton and at his short nod she stood. "I'll check the computer. Hopefully we'll find something."

* * *

Shawn's head jerked up – and his eyes opened. He had almost fallen asleep. "Should have just let myself", he muttered. Sleep had to be better than the agony he was in. But he was almost finished and no matter what happened, he wanted to figure out the clue. He knew it didn't mean anything – it wouldn't solve anything or save him – but it was who he was. He was a crime fighting _machine_ – and he might as well go out the way he lived.

He'd figured out the code after a few minutes of staring at the pictures. There was an order to the numbers based on the order of the pictures, and he'd been able to figure that out by the little girl's necklace.

The murderer had placed the little pendant in different places around her neck, starting at a spot under her right ear and working around to the left. In each successive picture the pendant moved. All he then had to do was figure out which numbers came first, second, etc until he had the final sequence.

In the end he'd deciphered the date: September 10, 1969. He wasn't positive about it, but it seemed likely. Of course he had absolutely no idea what that meant – but maybe it would to Bill. He wondered if he should even bother telling his torturer. What difference did it really make? He finally allowed his head to droop onto his chest.

"_Spencer? What the hell are you still doing alive?" _Lassiter's voice cut through the haze that was surrounding him. _"I thought you'd have the decency to die by now and let us get on with our work. Without you here the station can return to the professional operation it once was. There'll be no more shenanigans around here I can tell you and I for one will be glad. Now I don't have to be ashamed that the place I work would hire a childish buffoon like you." _The tall, dark-haired detective turned away to file something in his hand.

"Shenanigans? Really Lassy?" he muttered. Still, the detective's words cut deep. He'd thought old Lassiface was beginning to respect him – maybe even like him a teeny bit. It was pretty obvious, though, that the man felt nothing but contempt. He definitely would be happier without Shawn.

He turned away from Lassiter to see his favorite Detective. Hey, at least he could always count on her.

"Hey Jules!"

"_Shawn? What are you doing here?" she frowned at him. "Lassiter told me you'd died."_

"Uh no – still here." He glanced around, starting to feel paranoid for actually existing.

"_Oh – well I'm really busy now so I can't talk."_

"Maybe later?" he asked hopefully.

"_Sorry – I'm going out with two different men later Shawn – both of them much more mature than you. In fact, I'd be proud to spend my life with either of them", she pondered for a moment, "or possible both. I don't have time for immature, selfish psychics, no matter how great their hair is. So you should consider doing what Lassiter said."_

"What -?"

"_Die Shawn – just die."_

He couldn't help the sob that escaped. Even Jules hated him and wanted him to die. So why wasn't he doing it? Why was he hanging around just wasting everyone's time? They'd all be better off if he died – his father, Gus, Lassiter, Jules. He _was_ being selfish. "Just die Shawn", he whispered to himself.

This time he heard the door as it opened but his only reaction was to close his eyes. He knew what was coming and that there was nothing he could do to stop it. He just prayed that he'd lose consciousness quickly or, more preferably, he'd simply kick the bucket.

"Where's they get that expression Bill?" he asked, his word slurring.

"What? What the hell are you mumbling Psychic?"

"Kick the bucket – seems a strange expression. Why would anyone – _wanna_ kick a – a bu – you know." His voice was rough and barely audible and he could no longer even get a clear thought out.

"Shut up", Bill told him. He walked over and lifted Shawn's head with his hand. "Not going to last too much longer, are you?" He laughed. "Good thing cause you're really starting to smell."

"Please", Shawn whispered. "Water?"

"Water? Why would I give you water? I _want_ you to suffer and die. But maybe I should give you a bit." He looked his captive over carefully. "I do want you around to appreciate the end so I'll give you a little to keep you going." He reached back into the backpack of doom and after a moment pulled out a water bottle. Still watching Shawn he twisted off the cab and walked up to him. "Here." Without any warning he tipped the bottle up and into Shawn's mouth.

"Gaaah", water poured into – and out of his mouth – too quickly. Unfortunately some of it made its way down his windpipe, causing him to choke and cough.

"I thought you wanted some?" Bill laughed and took a swig. "Here, have some more."

This time Shawn was prepared and managed to actually drink a few sips. It wasn't nearly enough – but it had been a small taste of heaven.

"There, that's enough. Wouldn't want to get greedy."

He debated begging once more, but didn't really have the energy and knew it was probably a lost cause anyway. It was probably better this way – water would have revived him too much and he just needed to let go, to do what his family and friends wanted, and die.

"So, only a couple more times together Shawn. I'm gonna miss you, you know. It's too bad you weren't able to figure it out. All I wanted was for you to find him – to find her killer – that's all I asked. You promised but you lied to me and I'm afraid you're going to have to die." He stopped and waited, expecting Shawn to speak – to deny, to beg – to do something. But the man in front of him refused to even look up.

There was no point, Shawn knew. It was best to sit quietly because Bill was going to do what he wanted no matter what.

"You know you've done wrong, don't you", Bill suddenly hissed. "That's why you're not trying to defend yourself. You _are_ a liar and a cheat."

"No – no I'm not", Shawn said softly. He wasn't going to plead with the man, nor was he going to let the other man say what he wanted. "I didn't lie and I didn't cheat. I've done nothing wrong."

Bill screamed and looked as if he wanted to kill Shawn right there and then. At the last moment he pulled himself back – and instead smiled. "That was naughty Shawn. I have this planned out and I would have been very angry with you if you had spoiled that."

Bill considered the almost unconscious man for a moment and then retrieved his bag. "Let's see – I've got it right here." He pulled out the knife he'd already used to cut the other man's arms, Shawn's blood already dried on the blade, having turned the blade a dull brown in color. "I've already used this", he lamented softly, "but it is a good knife and I didn't really want to have to buy another one for this round. I hope you don't mind that it's a bit dirty. Since it's your dirt it shouldn't matter, should it?"

When he didn't answer Bill grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. "Are you listening to me? Because you need to pay attention. I want everyone to know what kind of man you are psychic. I want them to know you're a liar and a cheat – so I'm going to make sure they do." With that he pushed Shawn forward in the chair.

He groaned – the pressure on his back and legs and arms was terrible. With his arms taped to the chair the position caused horrible strain on them and they began to bleed again. It also hurt his neck – but there was nothing he could do.

Shawn couldn't see what was happening with his face pressed half-way to his knees. Bill continued to hold him down with one hand and waited for something to happen. He whimpered again – God – no. "Please don't", he begged.

"You are a liar!" Bill's other hand grabbed his shirt collar in back. "And a cheat!" He pulled down on the shirt – which tightened around Shawn's neck. Fortunately, after a few seconds, it began to rip. With a strong 'yank' Bill ripped it right down the middle, leaving Shawn's back exposed.

"LIAR_"_

"Aaaaargh" Shawn screamed as the damned knife pressed into his back. He continued to scream as Bill muttered and drew the knife across Shawn's back,slicing the skin. It went on for what seemed to be an eternity of pain before Shawn realized.

The man was writing on his back with the knife. He was actually forming letters in his back. He wondered briefly what he was writing. A moment later he passed out.

* * *

"Oh my God!" O'Hara placed the receiver down and turned to the other two. "I found something."

"What? What is it?" Henry rushed over, as did Lassiter. "What did you find detective?"

"I just talked to an Officer Hilcrest. t's an old case of his that took place about five years ago in Phoenix."

"_Phoenix_? Why the hell were you looking in Phoenix, O'Hara?" Lassiter asked.

"I wasn't." She looked up at the two men, her face white. "I checked the data base for anything related to murder and psychic– and this is what came up. I decided to give him a call and he just finished telling me all about it."

"Tell us what he said", Henry told her, trying to remain calm.

"About five years ago a man came into the police station in Phoenix, claiming that his young daughter had been kidnapped. He brought in a picture of her and told them that she'd been taken from his back yard. Of course, being a child, they mobilized right away. Officers were immediately sent to his house and surrounding area – where they checked everything carefully. Unfortunately, they couldn't find any evidence that pointed to where the girl could be."

"So how does this -"

"Let her talk Carlton", Henry interrupted. "I'm sure she's getting to it."

Juliet gave him a quick smile and continued. "Days went by and nothing – no ransom, no idea who could have the child. Finally, on the fourth day, an envelope arrived. They thought it would be a ransom note – instead it was something much worse."

"What? O'Hara?" Lassiter asked impatiently.

"A picture – of his daughter."

"And?" Henry looked up, seeming to understand where this was going.

"She had been tortured."

"Crap!" Lassiter turned around, his hand to his eyes. "Was she alive?" he finally asked.

"Yes – at least in that first picture. The police doubled their efforts to find her – but nothing and each day another photo would arrive. The kidnapper was torturing her and sending the photos to her father."

"_God"_ Henry breathed. "So what happened?"

"When it didn't look as if the police were going to solve the case, the father claimed he was going to find her on his own. He hired a psychic to help find his daughter." Juliet stopped and took a deep breath.

"By this time she'd been gone almost a week and there were no new clues or ideas as to where she could be although the psychic promised he could find her. The father stopped even talking to the police, relying solely on the psychic."

The others were watching her intently, knowing that there was something else, something she hadn't told them yet. "And what happened?" Lassiter finally asked.

"Eventually the case went cold and the investigation was pared down. The father begged them to continue, but they told him there were no more leads. They would keep looking, they told him, but they were drastically reducing the number of officers assigned to the case. It's pretty evident they thought it was too late and she was already dead. It was strange, but the report says the father didn't blame the police at all."

"But he blamed somebody", Henry said softly.

"Yes", she nodded, looking stricken. "He blamed the psychic and told him he was going to kill him for causing his daughter to die."

There was silence in the room until Lassiter eventually spoke. "That's nice O'Hara, but Spencer had nothing to do with this so the guy had no reason to kidnap him."

"That's not all", she said. "He _did _try to kill the psychic and ended up putting him in hospital with severe injuries. At his trial it was deemed he wasn't mentally competent and he was put in a secure mental health facility."

"Is he still there?" Henry was looking at her intently, his face pale.

"No", she whispered. "He got out three months ago. They said he was doing well."

"Damn!" Lassiter looked furious. "What about the psychic – the one from Phoenix. Do we know what's happened to him?"

"He's dead", Juliet informed them. At their look of shock she quickly explained – "he wasn't murdered. The file says he died of lung cancer three years after the man was committed."

"So he couldn't go after the guy", Carlton nodded, "and instead decided to take revenge on another psychic instead. You may be on to something here."

"Of course she's on to something", Henry barked. "This has to be our guy. What's his name?"

"William Farris", she told them. "He went by 'Bill'. We need to find out where he is."

The next few minutes were spent getting permission from Chief Vic and beginning the search for Farris. Once things were in the works everyone convened to Vick's office.

"What about his daughter", Henry finally asked, once everyone was seated. "I assume they never found her?"

"No", Juliet looked over at him, a look of compassion in her eyes. "No, they didn't find her – because they couldn't", she told her companions.

Henry stared at her for a moment, knowing there was something else she wasn't saying. "Why – why couldn't they find her?" he finally asked. The Chief and Lassiter both looked at her intently, also seeming to feel that there was something important that hadn't been said.

Juliet looked up, a look of hopelessness on her face. "Because she didn't exist."


	8. Imaginary People

_**Thank you so much to those of you who review! I honestly do write so people can enjoy and greatly appreciate feedback, comments, etc. It also makes me write faster (hint, hint). So - if you enjoy this story, a quick note would be really, really nice.**_

_**Sorry for the continued whump. Some more questions answered.**_

It was getting harder and harder to come back from the warm dark nothingness that kept the pain away. He groaned, desperately wanting to return to that place where he didn't have to feel – or to think – or to _know_.

It was also getting harder to breathe and his throat felt like it was covered in shards of glass. He refused to let himself even _think_ about liquids of any kind. That was one torture too many.

He groaned again and tried to lift his head. It took a long time and almost wasn't worth it anyway. His vision was failing him along with everything else. "Spots", he muttered, watching the black flecks race across his eyeballs. "Rovers", he giggled, although the sound that came out was more like the rasping of sandpaper on wood.

Stop thinking about dogs, he told himself harshly. So what _should_ he think about? He sat for a moment, trying to get his mind to stop on one thing so he could distract himself. "Ha", he grated. As if he _could_ distract himself. It's not like he was listening to another lecture from his Dad or watching a 'Charles in Charge' rerun.

Photos – those damn photos were still there. Although it took a moment to focus his eyes he was finally able to look at them again. They were still horrifying, still gruesome, but in some odd way they gave him comfort. It was almost as if he knew she was there with him, was simply waiting for him. Unlike anyone else, she _knew_ what he was going through. He knew it was probably sick and nothing more than the wandering mind of a man who'd gone crazy with pain and fear, but with the photos he didn't feel so alone.

He concentrated on the girl's face – only at that moment realizing he didn't even know her name. That struck him as terribly sad and he felt guilty. Why hadn't he asked Bill for her name? "I'm sorry", he whispered. "I should know it. How about I call you", he tilted his head and regarded her face, "Emily – you look like an Emily." He tried to swallow but it was impossible. He concentrated hard on not coughing, knowing if he did he would most likely choke to death.

After a few horribly uncomfortable seconds he again regarded the pictures. "How did you die Emily?" he wondered out loud. He kind of wanted to know how Bill was going to finish him off. His kidnapper hadn't said and he couldn't really tell from the pictures. Maybe it was just the accumulation of everything – or maybe she'd died of dehydration.

A wave of dizziness passed over him and his head drooped. He was almost unconscious when a random thought flew threw his way too sluggish brain. She didn't _look_ dehydrated in any of the pictures. He forced his eyes open once more and did a slow perusal of each picture. In fact, she didn't even look like she got thinner through the ordeal and yet according to Bill the pictures had been taken over a two week period. So why did she look similar – except for the horrific wounds – in each picture.

He tried to frown, but even that took too much energy. His eyes closed again and he allowed himself to drift. It didn't really matter why she looked the same – nothing really mattered anymore.

"_Shawn, are you going to tell me you're going to quit now?" _His father's voice rudely interrupted his march towards unconsciousness. _"It's just like you to get bored half-way through something and quit. No wonder Bill doesn't like you. He paid you to do a job and now because it's too hard you're just giving up."_

"No", he gasped, jerking awake. "No – Dad." He opened his mouth, trying to explain to his father. Bill hadn't hired him – had he? He tried to think. No – no he hadn't. "And – not giving up", he wheezed out. "Not bored – hurt."

"_Excuses, excuses! Come on – Spencers aren't supposed to make excuses. Get the job done."_

He whimpered. Why wouldn't his father just let him sleep? Still, he'd disappointed the man enough already so he might as well try and finish this. He took a breath – shallow and painful – but it allowed him to lift his head the few centimeters needed to stare at the pictures.

What had he been thinking? He looked at – Emily – and tried to concentrate. Oh yeah – under the horrible injuries she almost looked too – healthy. That was strange – if she'd been tortured you think she would have looked more – fragile.

He tried shaking his head. He was just imagining things. He'd been staring at the damn photos for hours – days – and he hadn't seen anything other than the clues the killer had left. Why was he doing this now? Why was he suddenly seeing something – that if it was true – he should have seen immediately. Still, that niggling sense of something being off – of being wrong – wouldn't leave him alone. He knew there had to be something – and he supposed he _could_ have missed it. It's not as if he hadn't been thrown by the content of the pictures and the fact that he was being tortured to death.

"So Psychic – how are you doing?" Bill had walked all the way up to the table this time before Shawn even knew he was in the room.

Guess I'm really out of it, he thought. "This – it?" he choked out.

Bill actually laughed. "Is this it? I'm afraid so Shawn. I've given you enough time to find him and you haven't. I didn't get my money's worth out of you I'm afraid, so I'm going to have to cancel our contract."

"Figured out – the clue", he gasped.

Bill's eyes narrowed. "You figured out – what clue?"

"Clue – in the pictures."

Bill reached over and grabbed a handful of the photos and looked at them. "What are you talking about? There aren't any clues here. These are pictures of my daughter – the one who that pervert tortured and killed. THERE AREN'T ANY CLUES."

"Yeah – date", he murmured, his head once again on his chest. "And – you killed – Scheffer woman", he decided to throw in for good measure. He'd forgotten that he'd even figured that one out. Obviously Bill had done that murder as a way to see if Shawn was truly psychic – it had been the 'test' Bill had referred to. Too bad he hadn't been put on that case. Maybe he wouldn't be here now.

"_What_?" Bill screamed. He grabbed Shawn's face and pulled it up. "Who told you these things? How did you get this information? TELL ME_?_"

"Psychic", Shawn told him, a crooked grin appearing for a brief second.

Bill dropped his hand and stepped back – a look of fury and of fear on his face. "Someone must have told you."

Shawn struggled to lift an eyebrow, incredulous. "Uh – all – alone here", he reminded the man.

The kidnapper began to pace in the small room, breathing heavily. "How did you know? How did you find out about the Scheffer murder? _Who told you_?"

"Spirits – told me", he panted, again seeing nothing but black spots. He could no longer see Bill and even the man's voice began to fade. His throat was tightening and his breathing was becoming shallower. He prayed that he would pass out soon.

Suddenly Bill stopped, directly in front of Shawn. "It's too late now Psychic – although if you tell me what the clue is, I'll kill you quickly. I had another couple of thing planned, but I'll be merciful if you tell me."

The only thing that got through to Shawn was the idea of dying quickly. He couldn't take anymore and simply wanted to let go. He nodded. He'd tell Bill and then hopefully the man would end it. "Clue – date."

"Okay, okay – it's a date. _What_ date?"

Again Shawn tried to lick his lips but there was no moisture left in his body. He struggled to speak but instead started to choke and gag.

With a curse Bill quickly reached for the bottle he'd left of the table. "Here – drink – come on." He held the bottle up and allowed a few drops to fall into Spencer's mouth. He waited a moment and then gave him a few more. "There – now talk!"

It hadn't helped – not really – although Shawn knew he didn't have a choice. He couldn't handle more torture. "Sept – ember 10, 19 – 69", he gasped out.

There was dead silence in the room although Shawn didn't really notice. It wasn't until he heard a soft sound – more of a breath really – come from the other man that he was brought back to some kind of awareness.

"That bastard", Bill ground out. "That bastard!"

Shawn wondered briefly who the bastard was – but quickly lost interest. "Please", he whispered. He wanted it to end.

Bill's attention was pulled back to the Psychic. The man looked as if he was about ready to die anyway. He debated for a moment whether or not he should just leave him to die or whether he should carry out one final act on the man responsible for his daughter's death. With a small laugh he decided he had time.

"Okay Shawn – I did promise, didn't I? Once more and then soon you'll be finished and you'll never hurt anyone again."

Shawn gave a small nod. Yes, that was true. His father and Gus – and all of them – they'd all be better off without him. He wouldn't hurt them anymore. He didn't hear Bill leave – nor did he hear him return a few minutes later. And he certainly didn't see what he had in his hands. At this point it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He was too far gone – in too much pain already – to really care.

"Sorry about this Psychic." Bill stopped and thought for a moment. "Actually no, I'm not sorry. In fact – I'm going to enjoy this." He wrapped both hands around the baseball bat and pulled it back. "This is for my daughter!" With that he swung the bat, with all his strength, at Spencer's right leg.

Shawn gasped at the pain and the noise of something cracking. He could feel the nausea rise in his throat – briefly stopping the scream that wanted to escape. Before he had a chance to breathe or even to cry out, the bat hit again – his other leg. This time he did cry out – the agony pushing past his throat and into the small room. "No", he cried again at the third hit. That was the last one he remembered.

"Just one more thing Spencer", Bill said, looking down at the broken body in front of him. "Just one more thing." He stepped back, lifted his camera, and snapped a picture.

* * *

"What do you mean she didn't exist?" Henry shouted angrily. "You said there were pictures. What the hell are you talking about?"

"It was all a hoax", she told him softly, "perpetrated by the father. It was one of the reasons he got off on an insanity plea. It turns out he wasn't married, nor did he have a daughter. It was all a fantasy, created in his mind."

"But – but the kidnapping, the torture. There were _pictures_", Henry said again, looking at Juliet as if she were lying to him.

"O'Hara – what the hell happened?" Lassiter too was looking at her strangely. "Henry is right – there were pictures. Was it possible they couldn't find her so simply decided she couldn't be real?"

"No – the father – Bill Farris – was a professional make-up artist. He'd worked for a number of years in Hollywood but then started developing symptoms of schizophrenia. He eventually couldn't work anymore. Some of his co-workers testified that he had suddenly started talking about having a wife and kid – a little girl by the name of Heather. At first everyone was surprised because they didn't think he was married – but after a while they started to get suspicious. When it turned out he was sick they realized it was just a fantasy."

"And the pictures?"

"He created the whole thing with a model. The girl's mother came forward at the time of the trial. She thought it was for a slasher movie – and Farris had paid for her daughter to be a model."

"What kind of mother let's her daughter be made up to look like she was tortured?" Henry asked in disgust.

"A stage mother", Lassiter replied. "But why didn't she come forward when the police were supposedly looking for the girl?"

"She didn't know about it. She and her daughter had flown out east to visit the girl's grandparents. I guess Farris had offered her the trip as part payment for the deal."

"God – so he sent himself the pictures to make it look like she was kidnapped and he was the grieving father?" Henry was back to pacing. "But – the psychic? How did he fit in?"

"The doctors that testified at his trial said that he probably didn't even realize that he'd set it all up. He was so delusional that from one moment to the next he went from really thinking his daughter had been kidnapped, to mailing the pictures and setting up the whole scenario. He really did blame the psychic, even though the man wouldn't have been able to find his daughter, since she didn't exist."

"Crap – and this is the man we think has my son?" Henry growled, his hands clenched in fists. "We've got to find him!"

Practically every officer in the police station was working to find Spencer. The Chief contacted the Phoenix police to try and find out anything more. Lassiter and Juliet searched through everything they could on the computer, trying to find even one clue. Others were canvassing the city with Farris' picture to try and find something that might lead them to where he was holding Shawn.

Gus had arrived a short while before and was sitting at a computer terminal, trying to find something as well. He felt sick and found it hard to concentrate – he had a terrible feeling that something awful had happened to his friend.

"Uh Detective?" Buzz was standing over Juliet's desk, looking concerned but also slightly excited.

"Buzz? What is it?" She looked up tiredly, blinking her red and exhausted eyes.

"Uh – I just spoke with a hardware store on State and W. Carillo. One of the clerks remembers a man who came in and bought a magazine on how to change locks in your home. He also bought a hunting knife, some duct tape, some hand tools, rubber tubing and other supplies. He said he remembered thinking the guy seemed a little weird to him."

"Buzz – thanks!" Juliet jumped to her feet. "Do you have an address?"

The young police officer handed her a piece of paper. "Do you think it's the guy that took Shawn?"

"It's a possibility Buzz. We're going to check it out. _Lassiter_", she called. Her partner lifted his head, blinking furiously.

"Yeah O'Hara?"

"We have a lead – a hardware store. It may be our guy. Do you have his picture?"

"Yeah", Lassiter stood quickly, grabbing the police photo off his desk. "Right here. You have the address?"

"I'm coming", Henry was there right beside Lassiter, the look on his face saying he would not take no for an answer. A moment later Gus was also there, although he didn't say a thing.

Lassiter sighed and nodded. "Just don't get in our way." After a quick word to the Chief they were soon on their way.

"Yeah, he was weird", Albert, the clerk at the hardware store answered the tall detective in front of him. He was a bit nervous – having four people staring at him was rather disconcerting. Still, this was his moment of fame and he was going to make the most of it.

"Is this him?" Juliet laid the picture on the counter in front of him.

Albert looked at it for a moment. "Yeah – that's him, although he looks a bit older. Who is he?"

"His name is William Farris. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"Nah – he didn't give me any information about himself and he paid in cash." When Lassiter opened his mouth Albert continued. "I checked after I talked to the policeman."

"So why did you contact us? What was weird about him?"

"Well – partly it was the weird stuff he bought. It was like he was Rambo or something – you know, planning some kind of commando job. He even bought a backpack to put all the stuff in. It was actually kind of creepy. But you know the really weird thing?"

"No – that's why we're asking you", Carlton said sarcastically.

"Oh – yeah", the Albert laughed. "Well, he kept muttering something about 'Heather' – and how it was the psychic's fault. I don't know what that meant, but it sounded weird. When I came back from lunch one of the guys said the cops had been by asking about anything strange. That's when I decided to call."

"Thank you Mr – ur – Albert", Juliet smiled at him. "I wish more citizens were like you."

Albert preened a bit – there was nothing like having a beautiful woman compliment you. He wondered briefly if she'd be interested in going out with him. He opened his mouth to ask when he received a scowl from the tall, dark-haired one and thought better of the idea. He didn't want to tangle with this one. He looked mean.

"And there's nothing else you can tell us", the mean detective asked. "Nothing that he said or did that you can remember?"

Albert pursed his lips and thought back. Was there anything he'd said? "Um – he asked me where the nearest gas station was, that's all."

Carlton gave a sharp nod after he got the directions to that station and the approximate time Farris had been in the store. "Come on, let's go." Without another word to the helpful clerk he turned and rushed out of the store, leaving it to Juliet and Gus to again thank the man. Henry hadn't said anything either – quickly following Lassiter.

They spoke to the clerk at the gas station – who couldn't remember anything and didn't recognize the picture. "But he should be on the camera", he pointed. "There's one inside and one at each pump. If he got gas here he should be on it."

By the time they arrived back at the station there was already a warrant to look at the footage from the station. Until the film came through, there was little more they could do.

"This is taking too long", Henry complained. "Where the hell could he be?"

None of the others had an answer, although it was obvious that they were equally as frustrated. They were also tired and afraid. The longer it took, the worse things looked for Shawn.

"Excuse me?" Melissa Benton, the officer on duty at the front desk, appeared with an envelope in her hand. "This just arrived." She held it out. "It has Shawn Spencer's name on the front so I thought I'd -"

Before she even had a chance to finish four people had rushed to grab it. There was a short tussle, but Henry was the winner and he pulled it back.

"Wait!" Juliet cried. "We could be destroying evidence. We need the gloves."

As much as Henry hated it he knew she was right. He waited until Juliet handed him a pair of latex gloves and he put them on. "Okay." He carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper.

_The Psychic has paid for the death of my daughter._

He quickly read the note – his forehead creased in a frown but no other expression on his face. He then reached in to the envelope again and pulled out a photo.

"Oh my God!" Juliet's hand rose to her mouth, a look of horror frozen on her face.

There was the sound of retching in the corner, as Gus lost his breakfast and lunch and everything he'd eaten in the last week.

"_Shawn!_" his father cried.

"Crap Spencer", Lassiter whispered.

The photo floated down onto the floor in front of all of them – on it the picture of a man who couldn't possibly be alive.


	9. Lost and Found

_**A couple of swear words here - but I only use them when totally appropriate to the story. Thanks for the reviews (I can't respond to the anonymous folks but I do appreciate you taking the time to comment).**_

_**Just a note to 'Anonymous' who was upset that I had Shawn wetting himself. Although this is a work of fiction (and highly unlikely) I do try to be as realistic as possible within the confines of my stories. It would be highly unrealistic to assume that someone who was tied in a chair for hours or days - and who was being tortured - wouldn't lose control of his bladder and/or throw up. I won't apologize for that but will point to the fact that I warned people there would be graphic whump.**_

"Where's the damn video!" Henry looked ready to kill someone as he waited with the others in the Chief's office.

"It should be here any second Henry", Vick tried to remain calm, although truth to tell she was ready to scream herself. The photo of Shawn had shocked everyone and as she looked around the office Karen could see the same anger and fear on each face.

"Here it is", Buzz was running through the office, a flash drive in hand. "They just sent it over and I copied it onto here."

Karen reached out her hand and grabbed it and quickly inserted into the port in her computer. She wanted to scream as everyone crowded around her desk, although she knew she shouldn't blame them.

"What's taking so long?" Lassiter snapped. At Vick's raised eyebrows he quickly backtracked. "I didn't mean you Chief – I meant the computer."

"Here it is." Karen hit play on the first recording and they all watched as a variety of vehicles pulled up to the pumps at the gas station. "Come on", she murmured, her eyes, like everyone's, plastered to the screen. She was tempted to fast forward, but knew it was imperative they didn't miss anything.

After almost twenty minutes O'Hara cried out. "There", she pointed to a non-descript white van that drove up. "That looks like him."

Henry leaned closer, wondering how she could tell when the guy hadn't even got out of his car yet. A moment later he swore. It was definitely their suspect. "Can you get the license plate?"

They all watched but at this angle the plates were hidden. Farris filled his car, returned the hose and put his gas cap back on. He gave a quick look around and then hopped in his car, started it and drove away.

"Stop!" Henry looked down. "Got it. It's LL6 3G4, California plates."

Karen immediately picked up her phone. "Run a trace on the following plates – and I want it STAT!" She gave the information and then slowly put the phone down. She regarded everyone standing around her desk for a couple of minutes. "It might be a while -" she was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. With a quick frown of surprise she picked it up. "Yes?" She grabbed her pen and began to write.

This time, as the call ended, the receiver was slammed down quickly. "It's registered to a Howard Davies. The address is 24 East Mountain Drive. Check it out."

Lassiter gave one nod and then turned and practically ran out of the room, followed by O'Hara close at his heels. She almost careened into Carlton when he suddenly stopped and shouted to Buzz. "Call for an ambulance to meet us there – in case this is it."

Henry and Gus quickly followed the two detectives, but split off when they got outside. "We'll take my truck and follow them", Henry said. For some reason he felt it was important that he have his own vehicle. If Shawn was – if they were too late, Henry needed to be able to go after the bastard on his own. He knew the cops would try and stop him.

* * *

"What if he's -"

"He's alive O'Hara", Carlton interrupted her. "There's no way Spencer is dead."

"But – but you saw the picture."

"Yeah, and you saw the pictures of that little girl. I won't believe it until I see him in the flesh. But it doesn't matter anyway – he's alive."

"How can you know that?" she asked, her voice cracking in despair.

"How can I know that? Because I know Spencer. There's no way in hell he's going to die and stop irritating me and performing all his stupid antics around here."

O'Hara choked back a laugh, even though she still felt like crying. For some reason Lassiter's confidence gave her hope. "Thank you", she said softly.

He glanced over at her, his stern face softening slightly. "No problem O'Hara."

* * *

Gus held onto the handle of the door tightly as the truck sped through the streets, following behind Lassiter's car. He didn't say anything as all he could think about was the picture of Shawn, tied to that chair and covered in blood. His friend couldn't be dead – he _couldn't_. Gus didn't know what he'd do without Shawn. He couldn't go on – life just wouldn't be the same.

"He's alive Gus", Henry said. His words were confident, but Gus could hear the fear, the doubt in his voice.

"Yeah – he's too stubborn to die", Gus replied. He'd never seen Henry with quite that expression on his face before – and it terrified him. He had to do something to change it – to wipe off that look of loss. "And don't forget all the times he did crazy things – and yet he always manages to get out of them okay."

"What if he doesn't this time Gus?" Henry asked. "What if this is the one time it all catches up to him. You saw that picture. How could he survive that?"

"Because he's tough. He may sound immature at times and it may seem like he's never serious, but Shawn is a lot stronger than most people give him credit for."

"Is he?" Henry frowned. "I tried but -"

"Look – I know Shawn sometimes gives you a hard time about his upbringing and even though he didn't want to be a cop, you trained him well and he knows that. The reason he's a success at Psych is because of that. He's gonna make it Henry."

Shawn's father turned and looked at him for a few seconds and then finally gave a short nod. "Let's bring him home."

"Yes Sir!"

They arrived five minutes later at a small, rundown house at the end of a long lane. It was at the very edge of town, practically in the country, and there were no other houses near by. It looked as if no one was even living there and there were no cars parked in the driveway.

"It looks deserted", O'Hara commented as Lassiter stopped the car.

"Mmm", Lassiter leaned forward and looked at the house. "Perfect place for a kidnapping. Come on, let's check it out." As they opened the door Henry pulled up in his truck, followed by two more squad cars.

"Buzz, you and Carmichael check out the back. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. Lopez, you and Marion stay here and watch the front. O'Hara and I are going in the front door."

Henry and Gus stepped forward to follow the detectives, but Carlton turned to him and spoke. "Henry, you stay here. If he's here I'll let you know right away, but I can't have you getting in the way." When Henry went to argue Lassiter cut him off. "You're just wasting time! I know my job Henry – just wait!"

With that Lassiter drew his gun, nodded to O'Hara and moved towards the door.

* * *

Shawn didn't know where he was, although he was at least pleased he no longer felt miserable. Wherever this place was there was no pain and he wasn't thirsty anymore. He breathed a huge sigh of relief but that was quickly followed by a touch of curiosity.

"So – I must have died." The realization brought a swift stab of anguish, but he stomped it down. "It's your own fault", he told himself, "and better for everyone. I just wish I could have stopped Bill." The thought that his murderer would go on to hurt others was terrifying. He was also darned curious about what that date had meant and who the 'bastard' was.

"Dad – I'm sorry. Gus – please don't feel bad. I want you both to have a good life. And Dad – tell Mom I love her."

He refused to think about Juliet, because for some reason that made this whole thing even more painful. He felt like he'd lost the most important opportunity, the most important person in his life. He'd screwed up and now Juliet would never be part of his life. He just hoped she would find happiness with a great guy.

"But she won't find anyone with such amazing hair", he said, although as soon as he said them, the words seemed too shallow and immature for the situation.

"So – heaven or hell?" he asked, trying to change the subject for himself. He tried looking around but everything was rather fuzzy. He felt like he was lying in a big ball of cotton candy – without the sticky goodness of course. "Uh hello?" Maybe someone would give him a hint. "Uh – if you're the good guy, I'd really appreciate you saying hi and letting me know what I'm supposed to do here. If you're – the _other_ guy – then just ignore me. Thanks."

Nothing. Okay, that wasn't very nice. He was going to get bored if he stayed here – wherever here was – much longer. "Hey – maybe I _am_ in hell. Rather than being tormented, they let you be bored for eternity. Yuck – that's worse than torment."

His mind immediately flipped back to his time with Bill and his heart sped up. "No", he called. "I take that back." There was no way in _hell_ – or heaven – he ever wanted to go through something like that again. In fact it _had_ been hell. "I'm sorry for all the bad things I did", he called out. "I promise I'll be better next time. Please – can someone tell me where I am?"

He was starting to feel frightened again – the fluffy cloud was dissipating and he began to feel cold. He tried swallowing but it was becoming harder and harder. "Please?" he whispered. What was happening? Where was he?

Hell – he knew it. He'd been judged and found wanting and he'd been sent to hell. Rather than being hot however, it felt like it was getting colder. He could also start to feel the pain coming back.

"Crap", he whispered. "I'm sorry – please?" Just then he heard murmuring – he thought there were voices but couldn't be sure. They began to get closer and closer. Suddenly he heard his name being called. They were coming for him.

* * *

"Nothing", Carlton closed the door and motioned onward. They'd checked out the first floor but there was no one there. It was obvious someone _had_ been here though as there were dirty dishes in the sink and a recent newspaper on the kitchen table.

They'd moved to the second floor and were checking it room by room. They were down to one more and Lassiter reached down and slowly opened it, pushing it open while standing to the side. At O'Hara's nod he looked around the corner and quickly checked out the room. "Bedroom", he said quietly. He moved in and looked in the closet and around the furniture. "Nothing."

"Spencer?" he called. Still there was nothing although Lassiter had a feeling. "He's been here", he said abruptly. "I know it."

"But where would he have taken Shawn? There's no sign of him."

"We haven't checked the basement yet. He could be there." He turned to leave the room when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. "What's that", he motioned with his chin towards the large piece of furniture over to the side.

"Uh – a wardrobe."

"Check it out. It's big enough to put someone inside."

O'Hara walked over carefully, her heart pounding. Swallowing, she reached over and undid the door and swung it open. Almost expecting Shawn's body to fall out, she was shocked when there was nothing there. It was simply a wardrobe, filled with shelves and a narrow place to hang clothes. "Nothing", she told him, not sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

"O'Hara." Lassiter's voice sounded strange.

"What?"

"Move away from it." He stepped forward and leaned on the edge of the wardrobe, pushing it to the side. It was then that Juliet saw it. There was a door hidden behind the wardrobe.

"Oh for goodness – who came up with this?", Carlton grumbled, although Juliet knew it was simply his way of dealing with the stress – and the sudden conviction that this was it.

"Get Buzz", he said suddenly.

"No – I want to -"

"O'Hara – go get Buzz. I'll check this out."

She glared at him and pushed the button on her radio. "Buzz – we're in the last bedroom on the second floor. We need backup."

"Juliet", Lassiter said gently.

"No – let's go – time's wasting."

He took a deep breath and nodded, knowing he'd done all he could. With that he pushed the door open, to see steep wooden stairs behind it. "Must be the attic."

He carefully stepped up on the first stair and slowly walked up, pressing his body against the wall. He kept his gun at the ready.

Juliet's heart was beating so fast she could barely hear the sounds of Carlton's footsteps. She too know that they were at the end. She prayed that they'd find him alive.

"Holy Jesus!" Carton stopped at the top of the stairs. "Spencer!" He almost let go of years of training and rushed forward but at the last moment stopped himself and checked out the small room. When it was clear there was no one else here he finally ran forward, up to the bloody and torn body of Shawn Spencer.

"Oh my God." Juliet stood at the top of the stairs, her hand over her mouth and frozen to the spot. She'd seen the picture so she should have been prepared, but the reality was much worse. "Is he -"

Lassiter was kneeling by the chair, feeling sick at the horrendous damage that had been done to the psychic. He reached carefully for Spencer's neck, sure that he wasn't going to find anything.

His own pulse was beating so frantically that he had to force himself to calm down. If Spencer had a pulse he needed to be able to feel it. He placed his fingers against the cold of the man's neck.

Pounding footsteps almost broke his concentration and the next thing he knew Henry was right beside him.

"God – is he alive. Lassiter? Is there a pulse." Henry could barely look at his son – the one glance making him want to die – and to kill. "Is there -"

"I don't _KNOW_. Just – be quiet." Lassiter was desperately trying to find a small spark of life but it – "It's there – he's alive!"

"Oh thank God." Henry leaned closer and gently touched his son's face. "We're here kiddo – just hold on. You're gonna be fine. Where's the damn ambulance", he continued, not taking his eyes off Shawn. "I thought someone called it."

"It's on its way", Juliet said softly, still standing back. She wanted to rush to Shawn, to touch him, to prove to herself that he really was alive, but something held her back. She was terrified – terrified of seeing up close how cruelly he'd been hurt. She could feel the gorge rise in the back of her throat and was sure she was either going to vomit or to scream.

Before either happened a gentle hand touched her arm. Startled, she turned to see Gus standing beside her.

"He's alive", he said softly. He looked just like she felt – but somehow having him there gave her strength. She covered his hand with hers and looked over at the unconscious man. "How could anyone have hurt him like that? He didn't deserve that. Shawn wouldn't hurt anyone. Why Gus, why?"

Gus just shook his head, unable to speak.

"It's okay Shawn', Henry was murmuring softly, gently stroking Shawn's cheek – the only place he could see that looked relatively unhurt. "Dad's here and everything's gonna be just fine. You just rest."

Lassiter looked on, not sure what he should do. He'd pulled out his pocket knife, ready to remove the tape binding Spencer to the chair, but then paused. He'd gotten a glance at Shawn's legs and arms – the bastard had pounded the hell out of him and they looked broken. He wasn't sure what would happen if he cut the tape and figured it would be better to let the paramedics handle it.

"Cut the damn tape Lassiter." Henry glanced at him and saw him holding the knife. "What are you waiting for?"

"I think we should wait Henry. I don't know what it will do to him if we take it off. He may fall forward and -"

"Cut it", Henry hissed. "I'll hold him up."

Carlton sighed, but leaned forward and gently cut the tape holding Spencer's arms to the chair and then the tape around his legs. As he did so he couldn't help but notice the man's nails. He grimaced. The bastard had ripped out his nails. He also saw the deep cuts up and down his arms and wondered how he'd survived all the trauma and blood loss. "There", he said when it was done. "Hold him carefully."

"Of course. He's my son Lassiter."

Carlton just nodded and glanced over at Juliet and Guster – and behind them at Buzz and Carmichael standing at the top of the stairs. Everyone wore the same expression on their faces – ones of horror and anger – but with a strong undercurrent of hope.

"The ambulance is here", Buzz announced. He and Carmichael quickly got out of the way as the paramedics arrived.

They instantly took over, forcing Lassiter and Henry to step back and watch as they quickly and efficiently began to examine the wounded man.

"Let's get him out of this chair", the older of the two said sharply. Lying him down on the floor they began checking and calling out vital signs. Within moments they had him hooked up to an IV, had bandaged the open wounds and had immobilized his neck, arms and legs.

Within less than ten minutes they had him on the gurney and were taking him to the waiting ambulance. "We can take one person", one of them called.

No one said anything as Henry climbed in after the gurney. He didn't even look at the others, his eyes firmly focused on his son. He knew, from what the paramedics had said, that Shawn was in critical condition and there was the possibility he wouldn't even make it to the hospital. For some reason, he knew he had to keep concentrating, keep looking at his son. That way Shawn wouldn't die.

After the ambulance drove off, sirens blazing, the others were left standing outside the house. It was a crime scene and already the forensics guys were arriving. Lassiter and O'Hara knew they needed to stay – to secure it and to report on what they'd found. Neither of them did anything but watch after the ambulance – both in shock from what they'd witnessed.

"Detectives – We'll look after things here", a subdued and very serious looking Buzz told them. He waited to be blasted by Lassiter for his presumption, but instead the head detective simply glanced at him.

"Thanks Buzz. We'll let you know what happens. Uh – you'd better drive Henry's truck back to the station when you're done."

"I will Sir. And – tell Mr. Spencer – we're all thinking of Shawn."

Lassiter nodded and started for his car. Without even a glance back he called – "O'Hara, Guster, let's get going."

By the time they arrived at the hospital Shawn had already been taken into the ER and Henry was stuck in the waiting room. He was sitting in a chair, his hands hanging down between his knees, his head bent down. He didn't even move when the others arrived.

"Henry?" Lassiter asked, putting his hand on the older man's shoulder.

Henry slowly lifted his head. "He crashed on the way here."

"No", Juliet breathed.

Henry glanced at her. "They brought him back. He was alive when they got here. I – they told me to wait out here. They're checking him over."

Lassiter squeezed his shoulder and then sat down. "O'Hara – sit down. He'll be okay."

Juliet sat heavily on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room. Gus walked over to the window and looked outside. It was getting dark and soon the lights would come on.

No one spoke as they waited in the gloomy hospital waiting room. Every hour or so a nurse would come out and give them an update. All they really found out was that Shawn was still alive and was being treated. No one told them how bad it was or what his chances were. The nurses told them the doctor would be out to speak with them.

Hours passed and there was still no sign of the doctor. Henry knew that that was probably a good thing. If something bad had happened they would have been told. So far no news meant he was alive. He refused to think beyond that.

"He was so hurt", Gus' voice finally broke the silence. He spoke softly though – not wanting to disturb Henry. Instead he spoke to Juliet, who had been sitting in the same chair since they arrived.

"I know", she whispered sadly. "I – I keep seeing him, tied to that chair."

"He can't die", Gus said, sounding as if he wanted to cry. "He can't die. I told him I didn't want to be his friend anymore. What if he dies thinking that's true? I need to tell him Juliet. I need him to know I'll always be his friend. Why did I do that?"

"I'm sure he knows Gus", she tried to comfort him. "He knows you were just frustrated and I'm sure he was just waiting until you were done your interview to bug you again."

"No – this time was different and he knew that. It was that Doctor – I should never have listened to him."

Juliet had no idea what he was talking about, but she did understand Gus' sense of guilt. She felt horrible too for how she'd treated Shawn. Even though he could sometimes drive a saint to drink, Shawn was never mean or vicious. He _liked_ people and if he was your friend he'd do anything for you. Oh, he might whine and complain about it but deep down she knew he was one of the most caring people she'd ever met.

He had a strange courage and charm that was unlike anyone she'd ever known. Right from the beginning she'd been attracted to him, but she'd forced herself to ignore those feelings. She didn't believe in dating someone at work – although even more than that she'd sensed that Shawn was someone who could change her world – and she hadn't been quite sure if she was ready for that yet.

Then he'd started dating Abigail and she'd kicked herself. She'd lost her chance and she knew she had missed out on something really good. When they'd broken up she'd briefly considered pushing it – but had figured she had time. She also had her doubts. Shawn was – unique – and she didn't know whether that was a good or a bad thing. Now she _really_ wanted to kick herself. Her fear had kept her from something wonderful.

If Shawn survived – and of course he was going to survive – she was going to change things.

Henry kept thinking about the fact that Shawn hadn't felt able to come to him about his concerns and the thought was killing him. What kind of father was he that his own son couldn't trust that he'd do everything possible to help him? He was an arrogant, stubborn old fool, that's what he was.

He'd spent years trying to cultivate a sense of responsibility and focus on his son – instead he'd caused him to rebel and to distrust his own father.

"If – when you get out of here – I'm going to be a better father Shawn – I promise."

"Did you call Spencer's Mother?" Lassiter asked out of the blue.

Henry stared at him. "What?"

"Did you call your – Shawn's mother?"

"Crap", Henry closed his eyes. He'd planned to call her as soon as he got to the hospital but had ended up sitting here, half in shock and forgetting to call. Madeleine was going to kill him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Thanks", he gave a crooked smile to the detective. "She would have had my balls for breakfast."

Lassiter nodded. Yup – that's a woman for you. He stood up and moved away to allow Spencer some privacy. He spared a quick feeling of sympathy for Madeleine Spencer – this had to be the sort of call every parent dreaded.

A few minutes later Henry stood and walked over to lean against the wall next to where the head detective was standing. "I left a message", he said at Lassiter's questioning look. "She travels a lot so she may be away on a conference."

"I'm gonna go get a coffee", Carlton suddenly announced. "Anyone want one?"

"I'll help." Gus stood up, needing to get away, if only for a few moments. The two men headed down towards the cafeteria, leaving Juliet and Henry.

"What's taking so long?" Henry strode over to the window and looked out into the now darkened parking lot. "We should have heard something by now."

"I'm sure they'll be out soon. They need to check everything carefully."

"Everything!" Henry laughed bitterly. "That'll probably take all night. God detective – did you _see_ him? He – that god-damned bastard _tortured_ my son." The last sentence ended on a sob. "He tortured him. Did you see his fingers? Did you?"

Juliet pressed her lips together to keep from crying. "No – no, I didn't." She could feel the tears burning in her eyes and she wanted to scream at Henry and tell him to stop. She didn't want to know.

"That fuckin' bastard pulled out his finger nails! And he took a cigarette and burned his chest." He swung to look at her, although he really wasn't seeing her at all. "Did you see his back? _He carved words into his back_! Why? Why did he do that? Shawn never even knew him. He didn't have anything to do with him. Why him? Why?"

Juliet sobbed and reached forward and put her arms around the older man. "Shhh", she told him. "He'll be okay."

"How can he be?" Henry said softly, not moving away but not returning the embrace. "After what that guy did – how can he be okay?"

A short while later Chief Vick arrived at the hospital. "Any word?" she asked her head detective. She glanced over at Henry, but he was sitting with his head bowed. Juliet was gone – to the ladies room according to Lassiter – and Gus was standing staring out the window.

"No. The nurse was by about an hour ago. He's still in surgery – they didn't say what for."

"Are you okay Detective?" the chief wanted to know. She'd never seen the man act quite like this before.

"No I'm not", he answered directly. "I - " His face was pale and haunted looking. He lifted his eyes and peered directly at Karen. "The bastard tortured him to an inch of his life", he said softly. "And I want to find him and kill him."

Karen nodded – she felt much the same. "Just remember he's sick", she warned, although she knew it wouldn't help. "And make sure you look after yourself Detective – and watch out for O'Hara. This has to be tough on her."

Lassiter glanced in surprise over at his partner, who had just returned from the rest room. Damn – he'd practically forgotten about her. "I will Chief", he assured his superior – and it was a promise he planned to keep. This had to be as tough if not tougher on her. He'd make sure she got through this.

Just then the doors to the ER opened and a tired looking man in scrubs and a cotton cap came out. "Mr. Spencer?" he asked, looking around the waiting room.

"That's me", Henry stood and took a deep breath. "How is Shawn?"

"Let's sit down", the doctor smiled. "I've been on my feet for quite a few hours." He waited for an impatient looking Henry to sit beside him. He then glanced at the other people in the waiting room who had gathered around and were looking at him expectantly. "Family?"

"Yes – and friends. Please Doctor – how's Shawn?"

"He's alive and I plan on keeping him that way", the Doctor said directly. He knew how important it was to get to the truth quickly. "But I need to be honest that Shawn is in rough shape and - although I hate to be clichéd – the next 24 to 48 hours are crucial. We have him in the Critical Care Unit and he will be monitored constantly. He's a fighter, so I believe he'll pull through but I want you to be prepared in case -" he let his voice drop off then.

"Can I see him?" Henry asked.

"In a few minutes – they're just getting him settled and then you can go in. In the meantime, I need to explain a few things." He looked at the man – the father – sitting beside him and wondered how strong he was. Dr. Jamison sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Mr. Spencer, I don't know if you are aware of what was done to Shawn?" He looked at the older man with concern in his eyes. He then glanced at some of the others there, not sure what role they played or how much anyone knew about what had transpired.

"Not in detail, but I was one of the ones who found him", Henry told him. "We know – he was tortured."

The doctor nodded. "Yes – well I'm afraid this is going to be difficult but – first off, Shawn is suffering from a mild concussion. It shouldn't give him any long term problems and is probably the least serious of his injuries." He stopped and licked his lips but before he continued Gus appeared with a cup of coffee, which he handed to the doctor. "Thank you", Dr. Jamison said in surprise. He took a quick sip and closed his eyes in pleasure. "Sorry – so, next – he suffered two and a few three degree burns on his chest. It looks like from a cigarette. Unfortunately infection has set in and we're monitoring that carefully. We may need to do a small skin graft later but for now we're just worried about keeping the infection under control."

The doctor took another sip of coffee, appearing exhausted. Vick wondered briefly how much of it was from the work he'd done and how much of it was from having to deal with the psychological trauma of treating a torture victim.

"Next – he received quite a number of deep knife cuts up and down his arms and across his back. We had to suture them and I'm afraid they'll leave some scarring. The worst part of these injuries was that because of the number of cuts, he suffered serious blood loss. We've given him a couple of pints but it will take a while for his body to deal with that and replace the blood. There's also some infection setting in on the cuts but the antibiotics we have him on should deal with that as well."

So far no one had said anything since he'd started to recite the list of Shawn's injuries although all eyes were glued to him. The doctor was sure he'd never been in quite so intense a situation in his life. Still, he owed it to these people, and especially to Shawn's father, to tell them the truth.

"Did you see his fingers?" Dr. Jamison asked Shawn's father gently. Henry simply nodded and the doctor let out a huff of breath. "Yes – well he has lost seven fingernails – four on his right hand and three on his left. They'll heal, although it will be painful and Shawn will find it hard to use his fingers for a while. We'll keep an eye out for infection, but fortunately they look okay for now."

"Will they grow back?" Henry wanted to know.

"They should. It doesn't look as if he got the roots so it was more painful than serious. Again an infection could change things but hopefully we'll avoid that." The doctor wished he could stop there, but knew that the man in front of him wouldn't let him off without telling everything. He continued. "He has multiple broken bones", he said plainly. "The femur in his left leg is the worst then both the tibia and fibula in the right. His right clavicle and humerus and left ulna are also broken."

"God", Henry leaned forward, feeling sick. He felt the doctor's hand rest lightly on his back.

"I'm sorry – but remember Mr. Spencer – he's alive and he's strong."

"Is there more?"

"I'm afraid so. He has three broken ribs – one of them cut his liver. That's why we took so long. We had to go in and repair it."

"His _liver_?"

"Yes, but the damage was minor and he should be fine. There was a small bleed and we got that."

"Is _that_ all?" Henry asked bitterly. He really didn't know how Shawn was alive."

"No", the doctor said quietly. "There's one more thing. He was severely dehydrated and in shock by the time he was found. His kidneys shut down and we are rehydrating him and have him on dialysis. Again – the next few hours will tell and we're hoping things come back but – you have to be prepared."

Henry nodded – things were bad – but as long as he was alive they could cope. He felt sick to his stomach and wanted nothing more than to run to the bathroom and vomit. But he knew he had to be here for Shawn – even if he hadn't shown that in the past. Whatever happened – he was not going to give up.

"Well", the doctor stood, slowly. "They're probably ready now if you want to come?"

"Yes." Henry turned to the others – who all looked the way he felt. "I'll -"

"Just go Henry", Karen said softly. "We'll be here. Give him our love."

He nodded, unable to speak, and followed the doctor down the hall. He was grateful for the presence of Shawn's friends. He wondered if his son had any idea how they all felt about him. Somehow he doubted it.


	10. Holding On

"Ah kid", he whispered. He'd walked into the room where they had Shawn and had stopped dead at the first sight of his son. He could feel himself sway in reaction, the arm of the doctor the only thing keeping him up.

"I'm sorry – it's always distressing to see a loved one like this", the doctor told him. "But all those machines are keeping him alive and helping his body repair itself."

Henry swallowed and nodded. He knew that – he'd been in enough hospitals and dealt with enough injuries in the course of his career to understand what the doctor was saying. It didn't make any difference though – not when it was his son who was lying there, looking like death.

He finally managed to unglue his feet from the floor and stumbled forward until he was standing next to the bed. He wanted to reach out and hold him – but he was afraid to so much as even touch his son. He didn't think there was a spot on him that wasn't bruised or injured or covered by a bandage or a cast. "God", he said, rubbing his hand over his face.

"It's okay to touch him carefully", the doctor said gently. "The touch or the voice of a loved one often makes a big difference to patients like this.

Henry nodded again and looked around until he spotted the single chair in the room. He pulled it towards the bed and then lowered himself down, surprised at how old and stiff he felt. He let his eyes roam over the hurt body of his child and he finally reached out a hand and laid it gently on his uninjured shoulder. "I'm here Shawn", he said quietly. "I'm gonna stay right here so you don't worry about a thing. Just rest and get better."

The doctor watched for a few more seconds and then with a small smile turned and left. He stopped briefly at the nurses' station outside the glass walls of the room. "Let him stay", he instructed. "I think the young man needs to have his father with him.

The nurse nodded in response – they all knew what had happened to him. Normally visits in the Critical Care Ward were restricted to just a few minutes at a time, but in this case they all agreed it was better to have someone with the injured man.

Henry sat and watched as the machines pumped oxygen into his son's lungs, as tubes filled him with fluids and antibiotics and other medicines to help him fight infection and heal. Other machines helped clean his blood and allow his kidneys to start working. Right now Shawn's life seemed to be dependent on all the marvels of modern technology but Henry knew that, in reality, his life depended on a miracle.

"You can do it son", he said softly. "You're tough and you'll get through this. There are too many people counting on you for you to let go. Gus – well, he's really worried about you. He's here – in the hospital – just waiting for you to be all better so you can go get some jerk chicken." He continued to watch the young man who so often had frustrated him – and yet who he loved so much.

And Chief Vick – she needs you son. Her solve rates have been way up since you started working for her and you've become a valuable resource. Hell, more than that you're part of her team. She wants you to get better Shawn." He slowly started to move his hand, carefully and gently stroking his son's shoulder.

"And Lassiter – well, he pretends that he can't stand you, but we all know that's not true. You should have seen him when we were trying to find you. I thought he was going to bite everyone's head off. He was ready to go out on his own and find the – and find you. He may still seem like he's – what do you call him? – Mr. Grumpypants – but he considers you a friend Shawn – and he respects you. And then there's that young Detective – Detective O'Hara. If I were you I'd ask her out Shawn. She seems like she's pretty special." He stopped for a moment, wondering briefly if his son would ever get a chance to meet someone, marry and have a child of his own.

The machines continued to 'woosh' and 'beep' and 'click' all the while Henry talked. And during it all Shawn didn't move a muscle. His face looked gray and – and _slack_. Others might have said relaxed but that implied a positive state and Shawn looked anything but relaxed. It was as if the spark that was his son – the sometimes childish, always impious spirit that was Shawn Spencer was gone. In its place was the shadow of the man – and it was a shadow that was quickly dimming.

"Don't you dare die Shawn", his father commanded, as if his voice would, of itself, hold his son back from a journey he was too young to take. "You promised me you would help clean the garage." He hissed a breath and closed his eyes. "Why the hell would you say that?" he asked himself. "Shawn hates cleaning the garage! If there's anything to make him -" He stopped suddenly, cursing at himself and the crazy man who had done this and at the world that would allow these things to happen.

"Look", he leaned forward, "you don't have to clean the garage, okay? I just want you to get better so that – so that we can spend some more time together, okay kiddo? I know we seem to spend all our time arguing or fighting but – but you're important to me, okay? And then there's your Mom. She'll _kill_ me if I let anything happen to you."

Henry grimaced slightly. Uh oh – now Shawn was going to wonder where his mother was. "She's on her way Shawn. You know her – she was travelling when you went and got yourself kidnapped – so she'll be a little while. That means you have to hang on because she'll be really ticked if you – if she gets here and – you just hang on, okay? Your Mom will be here soon."

He heard footsteps behind him and for a crazy second thought he'd somehow conjured up Madeleine out of thin air. When he turned it was to see the nurse, coming in to check on his son.

"Sorry", she smiled as she moved by him and began to look at the machines and then at Shawn. "We check every ten minutes when patients are in the CCU", she explained quietly and she waited for the thermometer to beep. "Don't worry – nothing's changed. His vitals are holding steady." When she was done she looked down at the worried father. "Would you like a glass of water or a cup of coffee?"

"Uh – water sure – thank you."

She returned a couple of minutes later with a tall glass of water. "Here. I know this is hard", she told Henry, as she looked at his pale and unconscious son. "But it's a good thing you're here. They know", she told him. "I've had lots of patients come back and tell me that they could tell when someone they loved was close by. It's often what means the difference", she told him, not needing to say more.

"He can't die", he told the nurse. "He's – my only son, my only child. God – I – what would I tell his mother?"

"Shhh", she reached out and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Just keep doing what you're doing. Your love and strength will help him fight." She smiled slightly as she looked at Shawn. "And he's a fighter – I can tell. I can also tell he's a bit of a handful, isn't he?"

Henry laughed softly, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. "Oh yeah – always has been."

"Good! Those are the ones that do the best here. I figure God wants to make sure they stay here as long as possible just to save himself the trouble of dealing with them!" With that the nurse gave his shoulder another squeeze and left him alone again with his son.

He chuckled softly at the idea that Shawn would drive even God crazy. He wiped his eyes and felt his shoulders relax just slightly. The nurse had helped and this time, when he looked at his son, he didn't see a man who was dying – but rather a man who was fighting to live.

He reached out and again gently laid his hand on his son. "Come on kid – time to wake up. We're all waiting for you."

* * *

He really didn't want to wake up – or come back to life – or whatever it was he had to do to leave this warm, fuzzy place. The last time he'd tried it had hurt – badly. Nope, it was much better just floating around like this.

Hey – he'd have to tell Gus that this was really cool. Floating around in a mushy, cushy cloud. Now, if only he had a churro and a smoothie – wait! There was something about that that bothered him. He frowned – or at least he thought he did – he wasn't quite sure because he sort of – didn't feel his body.

"Is this an out of body experience?" he giggled. Now that really _was_ disconcerting. He'd giggled but nothing had come out – no sound, nothing. Now things were starting to get creepy. He tried to take a breath but that didn't work either. "Oh crap! Maybe I really am dead."

The cloud – soft and warm – started to recede. "Ah – no!" The hurt started to return. At first it was just a small ache, where he couldn't tell. The next moment the ache had turned into a sharp pain and then next into total agony.

Suddenly he couldn't breathe – not that he'd actually been breathing before – but now it – "Aaaargh."

His body was on fire. He tried to move – to get away – to get it to stop. "Dad?" he begged, although he was sure nothing came out, that no one could hear him. If he was dead why did he hurt?

"Please", he begged, trying to move away from the pain. This time he thought he could hear something – he could hear himself whimper and beg. It would have been embarrassing but he was in too much agony to care. "Dad?" he begged again, "please, make it stop."

Suddenly a feeling of warmth began to wash over him and with it a lessening of the pain. It didn't stop instantly, but he could tell relief was coming and allowed himself to begin to let go. A moment – he had no idea how long it took – and then he could feel the cloud return. The pain fled and he relaxed.

Thanks Dad. The cloud took him away and he knew no more.

* * *

Henry had been sitting for what felt like hours. He did nothing but watch his son and the machines that surrounded him – nothing except pray.

He wasn't a particularly religious man – but right now he knew that things were bad – that a miracle was needed – and if he had to ask a God he barely believed in – and rarely thought about – for help, then he would.

He'd become almost hypnotized by watching the respirator as it hummed and breathed for his son. It took him a second, therefore, to realize that Shawn had moved. Henry sat up straight and kept his eyes on him. "Shawn?"

His son started to move his head back and forth – just a tiny bit, barely noticeable. A moment later the movements increased. The next thing Henry saw were Shawn's fingers – his poor bandaged fingers. They were moving – trying to clench and unclench. It was when Henry heard an eerie moan – forced out around the respirator, that he knew something was wrong.

"NURSE_"_, he shouted. Within less than three seconds she was there, quickly checking over Shawn's vitals.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Henry demanded. He was terrified – terrified that something bad was happening and that he hadn't kept his son safe.

"It's okay Shawn", the nurse spoke softly, ignoring Henry. "I'm just going to give you a bit of pain medication and that should help. Just relax now, everything will be okay." She inserted a needle into his IV port and slowly injected the liquid in the syringe. "There, it'll just take a minute." She continued to monitor him – gently holding his wrist with two fingers – until she gave a swift nod. "There." She laid down his hand, checked his vitals once more, and finally turned to Henry.

"I'm sorry – that was frightening I know."

"But what happened? What was wrong?"

"He started to regain consciousness", she told him. "Oh, not completely – but he was more aware and so I gave him some pain medication. Everything looks fine now so I suspect that he was just feeling some pain. I know it was hard to watch, but actually it was a good thing. The fact that he'd regaining consciousness means his body is fighting this thing. We'll monitor his pain meds closely from now on to ensure he doesn't go through that again."

Henry let out a deep huff of air and practically collapsed back into his chair. "I thought – I thought", he rubbed his eyes. "I thought it was bad."

"I know. It's difficult to see loved ones going through this. But he's okay now – in fact he's doing well. I think you should go get a bite to eat and walk around for a bit. It'll -"

"No", Henry interrupted her, shaking his head. "I can't leave him."

She sighed, knowing that it was important to the father that Shawn not be left alone. Still, he needed a break or he was going to collapse. "Look – I heard that some of Shawn's friends are in the waiting room. Why don't I go and get one of them to come and sit with him for a while. Mr. Spencer, you need to take a break or you're going to collapse and Shawn needs you."

Henry looked at the nurse and finally nodded. "Okay", he agreed, "but just for a little while."

She smiled. "We can only allow one person in here at a time, and I'm sure some of the others would appreciate an opportunity to spend some time with him." She said it nicely, but Henry gave her a swift glance, realizing what she was doing.

"You're smart", he told her.

"So I've been told", she grinned.

"And evil", he continued.

"I've been told that as well."

"Yes, well – okay. I'll wait here until you bring one of them back."

"Good man." She patted his arm and turned to ask one of the other nurses to watch her patient while she went to the waiting room. She glanced back at Mr. Spencer and smiled. If his son was as stubborn as he was, then he was going to make it through this.

"Are there any friends of Shawn Spencer here?" a short, gray-haired nurse called out as she walked into the waiting room. Immediately four people stood up.

Nurse Amelia Rodriguez almost laughed, although she knew they wouldn't find it at all appropriate. "I'm here to see if one of you will sit with Shawn for a while. His father needs a break but he doesn't want Shawn to be alone."

She could tell that the attractive young blond wanted to rush forward and offer, but for some reason held back. That was interesting. She obviously had feelings for the young man, but they must not be together if her actions said anything.

"I'll go", a young African American man stepped forward. "Uh – I'm Shawn's best friend", he explained. "How is he?"

The nurse looked at them all gently, with compassion in her eyes. "As I'm sure the doctor told you, he is still in very critical condition", she explained. "But I have been doing this for many, many years and I know a fighter when I see one. As I told his father – it helps when those he loves are near – and for them to keep fighting for him as well. Now come along", she told Gus. "Let's go see your friend."

Gus had to stop outside the room and he looked in panic at Nurse Rodriguez. "I don't – I don't know if I can do this", he confessed. "I'm – afraid that I'll -" he closed his eyes in shame, remembering back to when they'd found him.

"Of course you can", the nurse said calmly. "You said he is your best friend?"

Gus nodded.

"Then you must do this for him. He needs you now – you must be there for him."

Of course he must! What was he thinking? With a sharp nod he stepped forward and into the room.

"Henry?" he said softly, looking at the father, rather than at his friend.

"Gus?" Henry turned and looked at Shawn's friend. "He's doing okay. Will you stay with him for a little while? Nurse Rodriguez is kicking me out."

"For your own good Mr. Spencer", she told him.

"I know." He stood and looked down at his son. "I'm just gonna go for a little while Shawn", he told him. "Gus is going to stay here with you. You be good while I'm gone and don't the two of you get into any trouble." He gave Gus a smile and a pat on the back as he walked from the room, giving one last look at his son.

Gus slowly sat in the chair and finally forced himself to look at his friend. He swallowed desperately as he felt the nausea rise in his throat. Oh God – Shawn looked so terrible. His skin looked translucent and his lips were blue. Not only that but his eyes seemed sunken into his face and there were huge black circles underneath. Logically he knew it was partially due to the severe dehydration – but he also suspected it was because of the terror his friend must have felt.

"I'm so sorry", he reached out but stopped his hand before he touched him. "I'm so sorry Shawn", he said again. "I'm here for you and – and when you're all better you'll never get rid of me. I was awful to you and I'll never forgive myself – and I need you to get well and kick my butt, okay?"

But Shawn didn't respond. He continued to lie there, totally still and unmoving. That wasn't right – it wasn't his friend. Shawn was never still, never quiet. At any moment Gus expected him to get up and yell that it was all a trick – and Gus would get mad and hit him on the shoulder and they'd wrestle and then laugh and go and get something to eat – and things would be back to normal.

But they weren't normal and Shawn wasn't going to jump up. His friend was sick – he looked like he was dying – and it was all Gus' fault.

"I'm sorry", he said again, when suddenly an alarm went off.

The nurse – he couldn't remember her name – rushed in and started checking the equipment and Shawn. "His vitals are dropping", she told him. "I've called for the doctor."

Oh God no!" Gus' hand rose to his mouth and he sobbed. "Shawn!"

The nurse looked at him swiftly. "Talk to him. Tell him to fight. Come on – he needs you. Don't give up – because then _he'll_ give up. _TALK_ to him."

So Gus did. He reached out and gently took one of the torn and injured hands in his. "Come on Shawn – you're being a wuss! _Fight_. Come on – you know that if you – if you die – then I'll get all your David Hasselhoff mugs – and you're A-Team posters. And – and your Easy Bake Oven – that will be mine! Come on – you know you can't leave me. What would I do without you Shawn? I'll never be able to enjoy Jerk Chicken again. And you promised we'd go to the Night of the Radishes in Mexico this year. I can't go to a Radish Festival without my best friend."

"Good", Nurse Rodriguez was watching his blood pressure and heart beat. "He's responding."

Gus kept talking – trying to pour all his resolve, all his determination into his friend. There was no way in hell he was going to let Shawn die. While he was still talking the doctor arrived and conferred with the nurse as he too took note of Shawn's vitals. He watched as Nurse Rodriguez prepared another syringe and injected into the IV. After a moment he nodded.

The doctor then turned and looked at the young man whose eyes were totally focused on his patient. The doctor glanced at the nurse, and both of them smiled. "Keep talking to him son", he told Gus. "You're doing well and he's responding to you. I've changed his medication and we're going to see if that improves things – but in the meantime, stay with him. It helps."

Gus glanced up and nodded. "I will. He's my friend and I'm not going to let him go."

"Good – that's the spirit!" With that the doctor left, followed a moment later by the nurse.

* * *

For a moment there he'd wondered if things were about to change again. He was still existing in that floaty place – and fortunately he wasn't hurting. But for just a second things had seemed to change and he could feel a pull – he didn't know how else to describe it. It was as if someone or something was trying to take him away. He didn't know where – or _from_ where – but it had frightened him.

The pull had started to grow more intense when suddenly something was holding him back. It felt like – a lifeline. It was as if someone was trying to help him and was holding onto his hand. He kind of felt like the rope in tug-of-war. He grasped it and held on for dear life. He couldn't tell who it was – but he knew that the person was helping him. He continued to hold on.

The pull began to lessen and suddenly he was back to 'floaty'. "Yes", he murmured, allowing his eyes to close. "Thanks." He squeezed the hand that had held him safely and allowed himself to rest.


	11. Waking Up is Hard to Do

_**Sorry – I know this part seems to be taking a long time – but I wanted to explore the fall-out from Shawn's time in captivity. I will – eventually – return to some of the adventure and tie up the loose ends, but for now I hope you'll still with me on this story.**_

He heard a strange beeping sound and for a while just listened, too tired to try and figure out what it was. He realized, rather suddenly, that he felt odd. He hurt, but it was a vague feeling, almost as if it was someone else's body. The next thing he noticed was that there was something in his throat. As soon as he felt it, it started to bother him.

He could feel the panic begin to rise in his chest. Something was keeping him from breathing. He tried reaching up to pull it out, but for some reason his arms wouldn't work. It all rushed back. He was trapped – held by an insane killer. God – no.

"Shawn." A voice said his name. It didn't sound like Bill, but it must be. He was still being held captive. Oh God – he was going to die.

"_Shawn_!"

No – no, he was dead already – wasn't he? He tried to move but nothing seemed to work. Please someone – help him.

"Shawn – take it easy! You're okay son. No one is going to hurt you. I'm here, just relax."

Wait – that voice. It wasn't Bill – it was – Dad? It sounded like his father, but how could that be. He remembered being in that chair. He remembered Bill taking the bat and – no, please, he couldn't still be there.

"Shawn, listen to me. You're okay. You're safe. You're in the hospital and you're going to be just fine. Come on kiddo, open your eyes. I'm here and I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Could he believe the voice? Was it really his father? He was afraid – afraid to open his eyes and find that it was just a dream, that he really was still tied to that chair, dying.

But he couldn't stay here like this. He needed to move, to breathe. And what if it _was_ his father? If it was, he knew he would look after him. He wouldn't let Bill hurt him anymore, not his father.

He slowly tried to open his eyes, even though they seemed glued shut. He felt like he needed to breathe faster – but something was prohibiting him, which in turn increased the panic. He tried again to open his eyes, and this time could see a sliver of light.

"That's it Shawn." His father's voice softened. "You can do it son. Just open your eyes. I'm right here."

Oh please – let it be true. He pushed his lids up higher and almost cried when he saw nothing. Everything was bright and fuzzy and there were dots of lights floating around. He wasn't blind but he couldn't see.

"There ya go", that voice that promised safety encouraged. "You're doing it Shawn."

He managed to turn his head slightly, facing the voice. _Was_ it his Dad, or some cruel joke? He blinked his eyes once, twice, three times. There, things were starting to come into focus.

Oh thank God. It _was_ his father. He blinked again, trying to make sure that he was really here, that he wouldn't be blinked away as a figment of his imagination. It was then he noticed another presence – an older woman wearing some kind of uniform. Who was she? A moment later he forgot about her as his father came more sharply into focus.

He wanted to cry. His Dad was here and he wouldn't let Bill hurt him anymore. He wasn't quite sure where he was or _why_ he was here, but he knew that Henry Spencer wouldn't let _anyone_ harm him. Even if he wasn't that good a son, the elder Spencer knew his duty and his duty was to protect his family.

Shawn tried to speak but then remembered that there was something in his throat. His eyebrows lowered in confusion. What was happening to him?

"It's okay Shawn", the woman moved closer to him and spoke softly. "You're on a respirator – it's helping you breathe. I've called the doctor and he'll let us know if we can take it out. In the meantime just try and relax. You're going to be okay."

He stared at her, trying to figure out what it was she was saying. He didn't understand, but she seemed safe. He glanced at his father, who was smiling encouragingly at him. Okay, if his father wasn't worried then he wouldn't be either.

"Are you in pain?" the woman asked. "Would you like more painkiller?"

He frowned again. Pain? He understood that word. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to think. Yes – yes he was in pain. Now that she'd mentioned it he could feel it coursing through him. He whimpered around the thing in his throat and saw her move to his side.

"There, that should help."

He didn't know what would help – wanting only to feel relief. He wanted to cry – to scream – but he couldn't move, couldn't do anything. He felt a hand touch his shoulder gently, staying there as if to give comfort and his father's voice telling him to hang on, it would get better. A moment later his father's words came true as he felt a flush of warmth run through him and the pain began to subside. He closed his eyes, feeling the tears squeeze out from between his lids. Thank God. He didn't think he could bear anymore.

"What's this?" another voice disturbed his warm relief. "I hear Mr. Spencer woke up?"

"Yes Doctor", the woman replied. "He seemed to be aware, although in quite a bit of pain. I just gave him some more medication and he seems to have settled down."

"Good, good. Well, let's check him out and see if we can get rid of the respirator." The doctor picked up the chart and looked over all the numbers and comments written there. After a moment he approached Shawn and did a quick examination.

Turning to Henry he smiled. "He's improving", he said simply. "It looks like his kidney function is returning and things are starting to regulate. I'm going to try and take him off the respirator. Hopefully he'll do okay, but we'll watch his oxygen levels carefully. We may have to reinsert it if they begin to drop again."

Henry nodded, just grateful that Shawn seemed to be responding to the treatment being given him, even though he still looked terribly ill. He'd been with his son for over 36 hours and was ready to collapse himself, but refused to leave until he knew Shawn was going to be okay. Gus had stayed as well, even though he could only come into the room occasionally, when Henry took a short break. It had been helpful to have him and although Henry would probably never say anything, it felt like he was sharing the burden and the fear with Gus.

The others had had to leave to go back to work or to go home and sleep but had all left their best wishes and assurances that they would check back in as soon as they could. Juliet O'Hara has seemed especially torn up to be leaving, but Chief Vick had told her to go home and rest and she'd reluctantly agreed.

Henry watched as the Doctor and Nurse Rodriguez – his favorite nurse of all time – prepared to take out the breathing tube. The older woman had just returned for another shift, after having been off since the day before. For some reason – Henry didn't know why – he felt like Shawn had a better chance when she was around.

"Okay Shawn", the doctor was speaking directly to the unmoving man. Henry could tell that his son was at least partially awake, although he didn't know how aware he was.

"We're going to take out the breathing tube. Do you understand me?" There was a pause and then a tiny nod. Henry couldn't help the smile that appeared.

"Good – now on the count of three, I want you to breathe out and keep breathing out. Do you understand?" Another pause and then another nod. "Okay – here it goes."

Henry watched as they pulled out the tube – and then winced as Shawn gagged and then coughed.

"Here", the nurse spooned some ice into his mouth. "Suck this slowly – it will help."

They watched and waited for the next few minutes, checking Shawn's oxygen readings every few seconds. "It looks like he's holding steady", the doctor finally said with a small smile. "He's doing well Mr. Spencer. If he continues to do this well by the end of the day, we'll transfer him to the ICU. I also suggest that you might want to go and get something to eat and rest. You look exhausted."

Henry shook his head and the doctor opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly stopped. "Okay – but remember – Shawn is going to need you even more when he wakes up. If you're so exhausted that you collapse you'll be no good to him."

Henry refused to listen to the doctor, knowing he had to be there for his son. He hadn't been there for him before or Shawn wouldn't be in this position. And he was going to make damned sure he stayed and protected him for as long as he needed him.

"Dad?" the soft voice startled him and he looked down at Shawn. He was staring at him, his eyes only partially open, but this time looking as if he was aware.

"Shawn? How ya doing kid?" He moved his chair closer to the bed and carefully reached out and put his hand on his son's shoulder, one of the few places not covered with a bandage or cast.

"'kay", Shawn murmured, blinking quickly. "Where - ?"

"You're in the hospital and you're doing well. All you need to do is rest and get better. Don't worry about anything else."

Shawn nodded but his eyes began tracking the rest of the room. Henry could see a small frown appear, but just figured he was feeling disoriented. "It's okay", he squeezed gently with his hand. "You're doing fine."

Shawn slowly closed his eyes. The brief foray into consciousness had exhausted him. While it had been good to see his father, he had quickly noticed something. There was no one else here.

Gus had meant what he'd said when he'd told Shawn he no longer wanted to be his friend. He probably decided that it was best not to even come to the hospital but instead to make a clean break.

Even though the painkillers had taken affect, Shawn could feel the sharp agony that that thought brought. Gus! He needed his friend right now – but knew he'd lost him because of his own selfishness.

And Jules – he shouldn't be surprised she wasn't here. He didn't mean that much to her, even though he had thought, at one time, that maybe she was beginning to like him. He sighed and knew he had to forget about her. She needed to lead her own life and the last thing she needed was a man who was pretty much useless for anything.

He slowly drifted off to sleep, at least for now feeling safe, but knowing that, except for his father, he was still very much alone.

"Gus!" Henry walked into the waiting room to see Gus dozing on one of the uncomfortable couches. There were a number of other people there, and some of them were glaring at the man taking up so much room.

"Huh?" Gus blinked and sat up quickly. "Shawn? How is he? Is he okay? What's happened?"

"Whoa", Henry laughed and put his hand on Gus' shoulder. "He's fine. In fact he woke up and the doctor took out the respirator. He's breathing on his own and things are looking better."

"Really?" Gus blinked and then smiled. "Really?" he asked again. "Good for you Shawn!", he said, looking up. "Uh – can I see him?"

"Yeah, in fact you can sit with him for a while if that's okay. I think I'm going to go home and get showered and changed. I'm afraid I reek! That's if you don't mind?"

"Mind?" Gus leapt to his feet. "Of course I don't mind. Take as long as you need. And don't worry. I'll call if anything comes up."

"I know you will Gus – thanks. I'm sure it'll be okay though. Nurse Rodriguez seems to think he's over the worst and that he'll be alright now."

"Nurse Rodriguez?"

"Yeah", Henry grinned. "I think she's Shawn's guardian angel. She'll make sure he's okay."

Gus was obviously itching to go and see Shawn so Henry clapped him on the arm. "Thanks Gus."

"Hey- Shawn's my friend. You don't need to thank me."

"Yeah I do – because you're more than a friend. I'll be back soon."

Gus watched the older man head out the doors of the ER and then turned and hurried to Shawn's room. He felt a huge burden drop from his shoulders. His friend was going to be okay.

"He's sleeping", the nurse said with a smile. "He's looking much better."

"Are they keeping him in the CCU?" Gus knew only the most critical patients were kept here as it was expensive and required continuous monitoring.

"We'll probably keep him here for another 24 hours and then when he's completely stable he'll be moved to his own room."

"Thank God! I thought that -" Gus stopped, not wanting to even say the words.

"I know", the older woman said with a compassionate smile. "It was close, but he's a fighter. He also had the love of a lot of good people surrounding him. I wouldn't have wanted to be the spirit that tried to take him away from here, not with all of you watching out for him."

Gus smiled but then looked into the room where Shawn was sleeping. He looked so frail and ill still that it was hard to watch him. At least he no longer had the respirator helping him breath. He thanked the nurse and then slowly made his way in and sat down.

"I'm here Shawn", he said softly. "I'll watch out for you."

Gus found himself dozing off and on as the quiet in the room lulled him to sleep. He'd barely slept in days and it was hard to stay awake. He could feel his head start to drop and his eyes close. Maybe just a few minutes rest and he'd be better.

Shawn opened his eyes and was relieved when this time he could actually see. It also didn't take him as long to remember where he was. He was in the hospital and his Dad was here, watching out for him. Bill couldn't – no, don't think about him. He's gone and you're safe Shawn.

"Dad?" he whispered, suddenly needing to know his father was here still, keeping watch. He turned his head and immediately frowned.

What? _Gus_? No, that can't be. Gus wouldn't be here. He was gone – out of Shawn's life. _Why was he here_?

Shawn was too weak, too sick, too traumatized to be able to deal with all the emotions that seeing his friend brought up. He closed his eyes and the tears started to fall. He no longer knew what was happening.

Gus jerked away, practically twisting his neck as he sat up. Damn he was tired. He glanced at Shawn – and had to do a double take. Was Shawn _crying_?

"Shawn!" He sat up even more and leaned forward. Sure enough tears were leaking out of his eyes – which were closed so tightly it was obvious he was awake.

"Shawn!" he repeated. "What's wrong? Are you in pain? Shall I call the nurse?" He stopped when Shawn's eyes opened and his friend looked at him – an expression of extreme grief on his face. What the hell? "Shawn?" he said again, this time more quietly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He could see his friend try and swallow and then he shook his head. "Noth -ing", he said, his voice so low and scratchy it was hard for Gus to tell what he'd said. "M'fine."

"No you're not buddy", Gus reached out and went to touch Shawn's hand, but pulled back in case he hurt him. "You're not fine – but you will be. You just need to rest and let the doctors and nurses look after you. You sure you don't want me to call the nurse? When was the last time you had your meds?"

Shawn raised an eyebrow at him. How would he know? He'd been lying here asleep or unconscious for – he had no idea how long.

"Oh, sorry. Uh – I'll just check with the nurse." He was going to turn when Shawn's hand moved on the bed. He understood from that that his friend didn't want him to leave. "You sure you're okay?"

Shawn nodded, too tired to try and speak anymore. After a second he took a deep breath. "M'okay. Not – hur –ting."

"Good." Gus settled back down and simply stared at his friend. After a moment he smiled. "It's good to see you Shawn. You had us all worried."

Two lines appeared between the sick man's brows, but he didn't say anything. If Gus had known what he was thinking he would have been worried. Shawn doubted anyone really cared that much.

"The doctors say you're much better. Soon they're going to move you to your own room." At Shawn's curious look Gus explained – this was, after all, his natural milieu. "You're in the Critical Care Unit right now but you won't need that soon. You'll have your own room which will be much more comfortable and then we'll all be able to come and visit. It's been hard because only one person could be here at a time and of course your Dad wanted to be the one to stay with you. And he should be. I was here when he needed a break but for the most part I've had to wait in the waiting room."

Shawn found Gus' words so fast and confusing that he was having a hard time following them. He felt so foggy and disoriented – but aware enough to know it must be the drugs he was on. "Waiting room?" For some reason he caught on to that.

"Yeah – not very comfortable I'm afraid. Lassiter and Juliet were here for a long time and even Chief Vick stayed for quite a while but they couldn't get in to see you. They'll be back of course. Juliet made me promise to call you as soon as you were awake. I can't call here because they don't allow cell phones, but as soon as your Dad is back I'll let her know."

Shawn was feeling exhausted and shaky. He didn't know what was happening or what Gus was talking about. Why were they waiting? Why was Gus here? And Juliet – she didn't want to see him – did she? He closed his eyes, again feeling like he wanted to cry. He just didn't understand what was happening.

"And others came by too", Gus continued to talk, not realizing what effect his words were having. "Buzz came by as soon as he could – he stayed at the scene for a long time to make sure the forensics guys got everything. And a bunch of other officers popped by too. They all said to say hi and that they were pulling for you. You have a lot of friends you know Shawn."

No – no he didn't. It wasn't good to be his friend. He was bad for people. He was selfish and immature and useless. He whimpered slightly, feeling the pain return. Go away Gus – please?

Gus could see that Shawn was tiring so he stopped talking. He was just so glad to see his friend alive and improving. He smiled happily. Soon things would be back to normal.

Shawn slept most of the day, only returning to awareness for brief moments at a time. The next time he'd woken up his father had been back and he'd sighed in relief. He felt guilty about his father too, but he could somehow handle it better than with Gus. He didn't say much, only answering questions about whether or not he was in pain.

It was the next morning when they came in and told him he was being moved to his own room. He wanted to tell them no – he didn't want that. He knew they'd think him strange for wanting to stay in the CCU. At least here he was protected – protected from all those well-meaning people who would come in and see him. He didn't want that – he didn't want to see them. He didn't deserve it.

The move – even though he did nothing – exhausted him. As soon as he arrived in his new room he'd fallen asleep, his body, and mind, needing the rest. When he awoke the next time it was to the sound of murmured voices.

"I told him we had other, more immediate concerns with Shawn's kidnapping and then the hunt for William Farris, but he told me my priority had to be the Scheffer case."

"_What_?" His father's voice sounded angry. "Karen – that's crazy. We have a deranged psychopath on the loose and he says that's less important than finding the killer of a rich old lady?"

"Henry!"

"Okay, okay – of course it's important that you find out who killed her – but really, it's not more important than catching Farris."

"I know. I'll just have to focus on both cases. I just wish Shawn was able to help."

"No!" Henry said sharply. "He doesn't need this Karen – not now, probably not ever. He's sick and he's recuperating. The last thing he needs to worry about is some cold case or, even more, the man who kidnapped and tortured him."

"I didn't say I was going to ask him Henry – relax. I'm just saying that if there's anyone I could trust to figure out either case it would be your son. He's not the most conventional person I've ever met and frankly he sometimes makes me want to scream – but he gets the job done."

"I know", Henry sighed. "He's – pretty amazing."

"You're proud of him?" Karen sounded as if she was smiling.

"Yeah. Don't tell him that though. I wouldn't want to spoil my reputation."

"Your _reputation_?"

"Yeah – as the crotchety old man who doesn't appreciate his son."

She laughed. "Alright, your secret's safe with me, although I think Shawn might like to hear what you just said. You know your opinion means a lot to him."

Henry made a rude noise. "Are you kidding? He hasn't cared about my opinion for a long time. Shawn does what he wants, regardless of what his old man thinks."

"Oh Henry – I thought you knew him better than that! Your opinion means everything to him."

Shawn was having a hard time following the conversation – his synapses still seemed to be misfiring and sounds kept fading in and out. He _thought_ he had heard something about his father being proud of him, but knew that couldn't be right. No, he must have been talking about someone else.

And what was that about the Scheffer case? He tried to think. It was there – something – right on the tip of his brain. He knew about that case, didn't he? He tried to think but grew frustrated as whatever it was stayed just beyond his grasp.

No, no, he had to tell someone. He had to let them know. Yes, it was something about the Scheffer case. But _what_. He again tried to concentrate, frustrated at the fact that his mind just wasn't working like it normally did. He allowed himself to fade back into the warm fuzzy space where he didn't have to think or feel.

"I'd better be going", Karen stood up, followed slowly by a very tired looking Henry. "You need to go and get some sleep Henry. You're exhausted."

"I know and I may try and sleep at home tonight. Now that Shawn's out of danger I can get some rest."

Karen looked over at the sleeping psychic. "I'm so glad he's going to be okay."

"Yeah, me too." Henry regarded his son for a moment, too full of emotion to speak. Once he had himself back under control he walked over to Karen and held out his arms. When she smiled he gave her a hug. "Thank you", he said softly, convening his appreciation for her support.

"You're welcome Henry. Now take care of yourself. I'll be back and I'm sure a lot of my people will want to drop by. They've started a pool at the office to buy Shawn a bunch of things to keep him occupied while he's in hospital."

"That's good", Henry laughed, "otherwise the nurses might just kill him."

Karen walked slowly to the door, her mind already returning to all she had to look after at work. The Mayor – major pain in the ass that he was – was riding her hard to get her to find the murder of his friend's sister. She sighed and reached for the door.

"Bill", Shawn said distinctly. Both Henry and Karen stopped abruptly and looked at him. "It – was – Bill", he said, his eyes closed.

His father turned and approached the bed. "What are you saying Shawn? You're safe you know. Bill isn't here."

"No", Shawn opened his eyes and shook his head. He then looked directly at his father, wishing he didn't feel so tired and weak. "Bill – Farris – killed – Scheffer woman."

Karen frowned, her nose turning up slightly. She then glanced at Henry, to see him looking worriedly at his son. Poor Shawn – he was probably all mixed up. She shook her head slightly and prepared to leave.

"Chief", Shawn gasped out, looking over at her. "Bill – Farris – killed woman. Told – me."

"He _told_ you he'd killed the woman?"

Shawn nodded. "Figured – it out – he said yes. Was – test."

"It was a _test_? Shawn", his father snapped, "what the hell are you talking about?"

For some odd reason his father's anger made him relax like nothing else had done. It was what he expected. It was _normal_." "Test – for me", he ground out. God, why was it so difficult to talk. He took a breath. "Test – to see – if – I'm – psychic. Wanted me – to figure – out Scheffer – case."

Henry frowned and stared down at his son. "What? You're telling me that he killed the Scheffer woman – what the hell was her name?"

"Madeleine Tumi", Karen interjected.

"Yeah – so Bill killed the Tumi woman to try and prove you were – or were not – psychic?" He stared down at his son.

Shawn nodded. "Yeah – cept I wasn't – on – case. Didn't know – till after."

"And Farris didn't know her? There wasn't another reason he killed her?" Karen had stepped close to the bed and was watching him equally as closely."

"Don't – think so. My fault", he turned his head, his eyes again beginning to tear up. He hated being so emotional.

"No, it's not your fault", Karen said plainly, her mind still thinking about what Shawn had said. "But – but you may have something here. We haven't been able to find any motive for the killing. She was a quiet woman with few friends and – as far as we could discern – no enemies. She didn't have any money – that was the sister and brother-in-law – and they supported her. There was no reason for the sister to do it. They were devoted to one another. No – there didn't seem to be a motive for this killing, which really threw us off. But if what you are saying is true, her killing must have been random – used only to try and draw you out."

Shawn nodded and closed his eyes. "See", he slurred, "My fault."

"Oh for heavens' sake, get over yourself Shawn", his loving father proclaimed. "It was _not your fault_. It's the fault of this pervert." He looked again at Karen, who was looking intently at Shawn. "Don't tell me you believe this?" he asked her.

"It fits Henry", she said. "There was no motive, no opportunity – nothing, to explain why she was killed. If it were random then it actually makes more sense."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well – if the Scheffer case is a priority I'll have to follow all leads – and the best lead now seems to be William Farris. I think I am going to be able to kill two birds with one stone Henry."

"Good" Henry nodded, satisfied that the hunt would get even more intense to find the man who had done this to his son. Frankly, he couldn't care less about the Scheffers – not that he wanted them to suffer and he felt bad for the woman who had died – but right now all his focus was on Shawn.

"Thank you Shawn."

He opened his eyes to see Chief Vick looking down at him. She gently patted his arm and smiled. "We need you back soon, okay?"

He nodded but didn't speak. He couldn't tell her that he wouldn't be back. He knew it was time he grew up. He had to let go of being a psychic – a fake psychic.

"Good job son." He father sat beside him and smiled. He gave a small, crooked smile which left his face almost as soon as it appeared. "You sleep now. I expect you're going to get even more visitors so you'd better get rested up."

He stared at his father, wanting to beg him to keep people away, but he knew that would mean too many questions and too much prodding. He simply nodded and closed his eyes. Maybe he could keep pretending to sleep.

Henry watched as Shawn's eyes closed and his breathing deepened. He felt his heart almost burst with relief and happiness and yes – with pride. His son was a helluva man. Henry sighed and leaned back, for the first time feeling like he too could rest.


	12. Worry

_**Okay - don't worry - the action/adventure is coming back in the next chapter.**_

Gus was worried. That wasn't unusual – being friends with Shawn Spencer meant that he spent a lot of his time worrying. But this was different. This wasn't Shawn getting into trouble, jumping into things without thinking, or running off on a quest based on some obscure clue he'd seen or heard. No, this was very different, and it was scaring him.

Shawn had been transferred to his own room in the hospital and was slowly recuperating. It would be a long time before he was up and around, but at least he was no longer in danger of dying. He was, however, in a lot of pain. The doctor had begun to cut down on the heavy duty pain medication – to reduce the chance that Shawn would become dependent – and he was therefore feeling pretty miserable, even if he hadn't said anything to anyone about it.

So – Gus kept trying to tell himself that that was all it was. He couldn't expect Shawn to be his usual self, not when he was feeling so terrible. Anyone would be grumpy or impatient or just plain wretched when dealing with all the injuries Shawn had - except he wasn't any of those things. Instead he was quiet and cooperative and – and just not himself.

Gus had known Shawn since they were six and he knew his friend as well as he knew himself. He'd been with Shawn at some of the lowest points in his friend's life – from the breakup of his parents, through the turmoil and fights with his father, to being sick or hurt and always Shawn had dealt with things with his usual humor, silliness and apparent immaturity. Gus knew that when things got really bad – when Shawn was at his sickest or most frightened, he used those things to deal with the stress and anguish of a situation. The worse things got, the more he acted out – literally driving everyone around him crazy. It was his coping mechanism.

Gus had expected to see it start to come out as soon as he was aware of what was going on around him. He waited for Shawn to start fighting with his father, or making funny quips about Lassiter, begging for food or smoothies from Gus and flirting with Juliet. He'd done none of those things and Gus was scared.

He'd wondered if he should say something to Henry, but then decided the older man would probably think Gus was worried over nothing. Everyone was treating Shawn with kid gloves and didn't expect him to act any differently than he was. It was true his friend was still terribly ill, but that didn't matter. Something was different, something had happened to Shawn – and Gus worried that his friend might never come back to him.

He sighed and walked down the hallway to Shawn's room, pausing before he pushed the door open. He had to be imagining things. Shawn was just fine. As soon as he was feeling better he'd revert to his usual self. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Please let him do or say something to show his friend he was still in there.

When he entered the hospital room Shawn was all alone. Gus could tell, by the tension in that poor, wounded body, that he was awake but he was staring at the window, his body still and his eyes barely blinking. He didn't move when Gus walked in, although it was obvious he was aware that someone had arrived by the increased tension that seemed to wrap around him.

"Hey Shawn, I brought you a smoothie. That new place opened – you know, the one you told me about. I got you a Pineapple Berry Blast. It'll definitely tingle your taste buds."

The injured man turned his head slowly, blinking his eyes as if he'd just woken up. "What?" he said softly. He still spoke as if he wasn't quite aware of what was going on around him. Gus figured that was mostly due to the medication he was still taking. At least he hoped that was the case.

"I brought you a smoothie", he said, holding up the cup.

"Oh", Shawn blinked again. "Thanks." He continued to lie there, not reaching out for the cup or even seeming particularly interested in it.

Gus stood there for a moment and then walked forward. "Uh – do you want me to hold it for you?" He knew it was still difficult for Shawn to use his hands and he'd had to have people help him when he took a drink. So far he hadn't been able to handle any solid foods, so eating wasn't yet an issue.

"No, that's okay." Still he didn't take the cup and Gus finally just put it down on the table beside him.

"So, how are you feeling today?"

"Fine."

"Uh – that's good." Gus pulled up the chair and sat down. "Your Dad's not here?" he asked, then he grimaced. That was a pretty stupid question since there wasn't anyone else in the room.

"No. He went home to shower and eat."

"Oh." Gus sat and bit his lip. He'd never, in all the years he'd known this man, had trouble having a conversation with Shawn. In fact, there were lots of times he hadn't had to say a word. Shawn could talk continuously for hours without a single break. Now, it was like pulling teeth to get him to say more than one or two words at a time. "Is he coming back soon?"

Shawn gave his one shoulder shrugs but seemed to realize almost instantly that that wasn't a real answer. "I don't know – he – I think – I can't remember. I think he'll probably be back soon." There was a short silence and then – "he doesn't need to come. I'm fine now. I don't need to have people babysitting me."

Gus looked at him in surprise. "Uh – I don't think anyone thinks of it as babysitting Shawn. We were worried about you and – we want to see you. I know your Dad was really upset and probably needs to spend time with you to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine", he repeated. "I know you have your work and other important things to do so don't think you have to come all the time. I don't want to keep you from those."

"You're not", Gus answered in surprise. "I finished my route earlier and anyway, you're the most important thing. You're my friend and I want to be here."

"Thanks", Shawn said softly, still not looking at his friend. "But – you should worry about yourself Gus. You have a career and – and a family that loves you. I don't want you to think you have to spend all your time here."

"I don't think I _have _to – I _want _to. You're my friend." When Shawn didn't answer, but simply continued to lie in his bed, looking so – so lost, that Gus grew even more worried. What was this about?

Suddenly he figured it out. Crap – this was about him telling Shawn he didn't want to be friends anymore. Damn! After they found Shawn focused on him simply surviving and after that on his recuperation. He'd pushed what he'd done to the back of his mind – but he realized now how hurt Shawn had been. Gus wanted to knock his own head against a wall. How in hell could he have done that to his best friend?

"Shawn – listen. If this is about that crap I told you before – about not wanting to be friends anymore, well that was simply me being an idiot and I'm really sorry. I was under a lot of pressure at work and I said some things I didn't mean. Please, say you'll forgive me and forget this. You and I are a team – we're Laurel and Hardy, Sherlock and Watson, Dean and Jerry, Lenny and Squigy." He would have kept going except that Shawn didn't seem to be responding the way he normally would have. If things were right he would have started throwing in names, trying to one-up Gus. Instead he simply listened without responding.

"Shawn?"

"Huh?" Finally the tired and ill looking man moved and his head turned slowly. "You don't need to feel sorry Gus. I'm not angry."

Gus stared at him, trying to figure out if Shawn was telling the truth but for once he couldn't read the other man. "Okay, if you're sure. You're my best friend Shawn – don't ever forget that."

"Okay", Shawn gave a brief smile and then closed his eyes, looking like he was exhausted and in pain. Gus wanted to curse at himself for even starting this conversation. "Don't worry about anything", he told his friend. "You're tired and – and you need to rest. I'm gonna be here for you cause I want to be, okay?" When the other man didn't respond he stood up. "Right now I'm going to get a nurse and get you some painkillers", he said firmly. Without waiting for an answer he left the room.

As soon as Gus had left Shawn moved – as much as he was able to with all his injuries – and sighed. Everything hurt – but he was almost used to that now. What was worse than the physical pain was the feeling of loss and – depression – that had settled over him. He knew he had to let Gus go so that the other man could find himself and get ahead. He couldn't hold him back any longer.

Gus returned a few moments later, followed almost immediately by one of the nurses. She walked up to Shawn and quickly checked his vitals. "Your friend says you're in need of some pain medication?"

He nodded – not that the pain was any worse now than it normally was, but because the medication would make him sleepy and he'd doze, and then he wouldn't have to deal with Gus anymore.

The Nurse – Irina was her name – quickly injected something into his IV, and then patted his arm and left. After a few short minutes he could feel his eyelids grow heavy and he knew he would soon be asleep.

"I'll just wait here while you rest Shawn."

No – no, please Gus – please leave. But Shawn knew the words were only in his head. He could never actually say them – didn't _want_ to say them, but he had to protect his friend by staying out of his life. A few seconds later he was asleep.

* * *

Juliet parked in the hospital parking lot and sat there, unmoving, for the longest time. It's not that she didn't want to see Shawn, but – she was dreading the visit. She wanted to kick herself for even thinking such a thing, but the fact was, each time she'd visited it had grown more and more uncomfortable. Shawn was still feeling terrible – and she felt so badly for him. She hadn't expected him to be his usual self, but what she hadn't expected was the man in the bed who was a complete stranger. The Shawn she knew and – uh _cared for_ – wasn't anything like the serious and quiet man in the hospital.

She kept telling herself that she was being ridiculous, and unfair. Shawn had been hurt terribly and was even now dealing with very serious injuries. How could she expect him to be his usual sunny self when he had to be in pain _and_ he was almost totally immobile? That would be enough to drive anyone crazy, especially someone like Shawn who was a constant ball of energy.

But he wasn't even flirting with her! She knew that was a horrible thing to even be thinking about, but it was so much a part of her relationship with Shawn, that the absence of any hints of flirtation made her feel like he was withdrawing from her.

"Don't be ridiculous", she told herself. "He's hurt. Why would he flirt with you when he feels awful?" Why? Because that's what Shawn did. When things were bad he didn't stop acting like Shawn – no, he acted even _more_ like Shawn. The fact that he wasn't acting that way – and that he was so serious, set up warning bells in her mind.

When she walked into his room it was to see him sitting up – the first time she'd seen him that way since he'd been brought to the hospital. There was also a bit more color in his cheeks, although whether that was because he was getting better, or because of the exertion of moving she didn't know.

"Shawn?" she walked in with a smile on her face. "How are you?" She noticed Henry sitting in the chair beside his son and wondered briefly where Shawn's mother was. He'd been in the hospital for a week now, and still the woman hadn't shown up.

"Hi Detective", he answered softly. "I'm fine."

Juliet wanted to cringe at being called 'detective' by Shawn. Not once had she heard him call her Jules since they'd found him. For some reason that made her feel like crying. She glanced at Henry to see a worried frown on his face. She wasn't the only one, then, who was concerned. "Uh, I brought you something." She lifted the bag in her hands and showed him. "They're double double chocolate fudge brownies – with walnuts. I know how much you like them." She placed the back on his table and stepped back.

She got a smile for that and a soft 'thank you', although she noticed he didn't reach for one of the brownies. She wondered if she should offer to help, since his arms and hands were still bandaged, but when she looked at Henry he shook his head.

"So- you're looking a bit better today." She was pretty sure Shawn must be sick to death of people asking him how he felt, but she really didn't know what else to say. Usually Shawn had no trouble initiating a conversation but now he didn't seem to be able to say more than one or two words at a time.

"Yeah – they told Shawn he could sit up now. In a couple of days he'll be able to get out of bed." Henry was trying to take up the conversation, looking about as comfortable as she felt.

"That's nice." The three of them sat there growing more awkward as the silence continued. Juliet tried to think of something to say. "Uh – we're still looking for Farris. The Chief has made it a priority. Don't worry Shawn – we're going to get him."

"Yeah", he said softly and that was all, although she was pretty sure she could see his body stiffen and everything close off in his face.

As she left the hospital Juliet could feel her throat tighten. She hated what had been done to Shawn – and wanted to be able to help him. She just didn't know how.

* * *

"You weren't very chatty", his father said calmly, after O'Hara had left. "Usually you have more to say to Detective O'Hara."

Shawn sighed and looked away. "Sorry", he said finally. "I'm just tired I guess."

Henry's hand moved over and was laid gently on Shawn's shoulder. "I know kiddo. Why don't you just rest? I'll just sit here and read my magazine."

"You don't have to Dad. I'm okay by myself for a while."

"I know but – I want to okay? Let me put your bed back down and then sleep."

Just as Shawn started to doze he turned to his father. "Where's Mom?" He knew she was travelling, but he missed her. For some reason her absence made him feel that no one really cared. He knew it was silly and not true, but there was a darkness in him that he was having trouble getting rid of.

Henry sighed and sat forward, his hand on Shawn's. "She was on a two week safari in Kenya", his father explained again. He knew Shawn knew all this, but wanted to reassure him it wasn't his mother's fault. "We've left messages with the tour company and they said they were going to get in touch with her but it might take a while for her to get back to the city and catch a flight. I expect we'll see her soon." When Shawn did nothing but nod Henry wanted to curse. "Shawn, you know she would have been here instantly if she could. Your Mom loves you so much – she'd do anything for you and I'm sure that when she finds out you were hurt there won't be anything that'll stop her getting here."

"I know", he smiled at his Dad, his eyes drooping and his voice so quiet it was almost impossible for Henry to hear. "It's just – nice – having her – and you."

Shawn waited patiently for the nurse to bring the paper work that would signal it was okay for him to leave. The doctor had given the go ahead – with a long list of instructions – and he was finally being sprung from the hospital.

It's not that he was actually all that anxious to leave. Normally he would try and get out as quickly as possible but this time he figured it was easier to deal with everything right here. The nurses knew how to look after him and it was impersonal and relatively un-embarrassing. Now he'd be dependent on family and friends to do everything for him. He hated that thought.

He was still almost totally immobile, although he had had a few trips around the floor in a wheelchair. With arms and legs broken it was impossible for him to wield crutches, even if the doctor would let him walk, which as yet he wouldn't. He was told he'd get walking casts in a couple of weeks – until then he was either bed or chair bound.

Normally this would have driven him insane but now – nothing really mattered. He knew he was suffering from depression – he refused to admit it was post traumatic stress - even though he'd heard it mentioned a few times in his hearing. He would _not_ let Bill win. He would not let that bastard and what he'd done affect him – no way. He was going to be just fine.

"So Shawn", the doc had looked at his chart and then up at his patient. "I think we can let you go home today – although I'm sure you'll miss the hospital meals." Shawn forced himself to smile at the small joke. "Now, you'll need help so we can only release you if someone is going to take care of you."

"That'd be me", Henry spoke up. His eyes flitted to his son, waiting for the requisite complaints and refusal, but nothing came. He frowned, feeling uneasy. "Uh –he'll be staying at my place."

"Good, good. Now I'm going to make up a schedule for you", he told his patient. "Unfortunately you're going to need some intensive physical therapy to get back into shape. You should also go and see your family doctor as soon as possible. He or she will also want to take those stitches out in a week or so." He'd continued to give a few more instructions, had smiled at Shawn, wished him well and then left.

While waiting for the nurse to come with the paperwork, his dad had helped him get dressed. Not only was it exhausting, it was a humiliating exercise as he realized he could do practically nothing for himself.

He _hated_ this.

"Okay Shawn, we're almost there." Henry kept checking on his son, who seemed to have fallen asleep almost instantly after they left the hospital. He had had to borrow a car from a friend, knowing it would be too hard to get Shawn into his truck, not with his wounds and casts. His face was tight with worry and concern. He didn't know what was up, but the ease with which the kid had accepted having to stay at his father's was odd, to say the least. He glanced at Gus, who was sitting in the passenger seat beside him, and who looked as worried as he felt.

Henry pulled into his driveway and stopped the car. For a moment he just sat, thinking about all that Shawn had been through and telling himself it was perfectly normal for him to be subdued. He was still hurting, Henry knew, even if he didn't say anything. He sighed and rubbed his face. God – why did this have to happen?

"Henry?" Gus' voice gently prodded him that they were back and he had better get his son inside.

"Shawn?" he said gently, reaching over the seat and gently touching his son, who was laid out in the back. "We're home."

"Hmmm?" Shawn's eyes opened, and he looked around, a fleeting appearance of panic on his face. "Where?"

"We're at my place Shawn. Come on, I'll get the wheelchair and we'll get you inside."

By the time Henry and Gus got him into the house Shawn was exhausted and in some pain. He laid down on the couch and was out almost instantly.

"I have to get back Henry", Gus explained while peering down anxiously at his friend. "I have a couple of visits I have to do this afternoon. Call me if you need me for anything."

"Thanks Gus – I will. And don't worry. I have everything under control."

Gus nodded, took one final look at Shawn and headed out the door.

Henry checked that Shawn was still sleeping, tucked a blanket around him and sat down in the chair opposite to simply watch his son.

When the phone rang a few minutes later it startled him and he rushed to pick it up before it woke his sleeping son.

"Hello."

"_Henry, it's Maddie. What's going on?" _her panicked voice came over the phone in a staccato burst._ "The touring company sent a messenger, saying that Shawn had been hurt. Henry – what's going on? Is he okay? What happened?"_

"Maddie! God – finally." Before his ex-wife had a chance to respond to that he quickly told her some of what had happened. "He's okay now Mad. We just got home from the hospital a little while ago and he's sleeping."

"_Is he really okay Henry? It sounded bad."_

"I won't lie", he told her, "it was bad. We almost lost him Maddie." He had to sit down as the reality slowly started to catch up to him. He wiped a hand over his eyes, refusing to admit that the moisture was caused by tears. "He almost didn't make it, but he pulled through and he's going to be okay."

"_Really? Is that the truth?"_ He could hear the sob in Madeleine's voice and could only imagine how difficult this was for her. "_Please – I need to know how he really is."_

"I'm telling you the truth. He's pretty banged up and he's going to be staying with me for the next few weeks, but the doctor thinks he'll make an almost full recovery."

"_Almost? What do you mean by almost?"_

"He might have a bit of a limp and he will have some scars, but nothing too bad." Of course Henry didn't say anything about the emotional scars, which he was already afraid were much worse.

"_Can I talk to him?"_

Looking at his sleeping son, who looked drawn and thin and so very weak, Henry's first reaction was to say no – to let him sleep. On reflection though he knew it would probably be good for Shawn to speak with his mother. "Where are you Maddie?"

"_I'm at the Crown Victoria Hotel in Nairobi. I'm arranging a flight out tomorrow morning and I should be in Santa Barbara by Tuesday evening. Please, can I talk to him_?"

"Shawn", he gently shook the sleeping man. "Shawn."

"Wha – Dad? What is it?" A bleary looking Shawn glanced around the room as if confused as to where he was.

"It's your mother", Henry said, holding out the phone. "She wants to talk to you."

Shawn immediately brightened up and reached out and clumsily took the phone. "Mom?"

* * *

Henry left the room and walked out to the front porch to give Shawn and Maddie some privacy. Today was Sunday, and she'd be here in a couple of days. He'd better get a room ready for her because she'd definitely want to stay here.

It was funny, but he felt a strange mixture of relief and resentment – relief because he knew Maddie would be good for Shawn and would share the responsibility of looking after him. Resentment – well, that was because he was sure Shawn was much happier at the prospect of having his mother here than he was of having his Dad. Henry had long known that Shawn was upset at him for so many things – but he seemed to have a great relationship with his mother. He shook his head, knowing that it was wrong of him to be jealous.

It was just that he loved his son so much – and had almost lost him. He would do anything and everything to make sure Shawn came out of this okay and that he stayed safe. He just hoped that he knew what to do.

There was one thing he did know, and that was as long as that sadist Farris was still loose he would stick close to his son and watch him over him. When Shawn was born he'd taken a vow that he would always work to keep his son safe. It didn't matter that Shawn was a man now – with a life and a career al his own. Nope – he was going to watch out for his son. There was no way in hell that man was ever getting close to Shawn again.

As he turned and headed back into his house he failed to see the car sitting down the street, or the man inside, watching. If he had, he would have realized he was wrong. That man was already close.


	13. Needed

_**Sorry - slowly moving back into the adventure but I can't rush poor Shawn. Hope you are enjoying and reviews greatly appreciated!**_

He was slowly going insane. He'd known it for a while but now it was worse. He could have called for help, but some small part of him, some smidgeon of the old Shawn, refused to give in, refused to let people see him as he now was. He could handle this – he could.

Except he was slowly going insane! He quickly searched – unfortunately with his eyes only – to see if there was something, anything he could use to help him. Why didn't his Dad have a few sticks lying around just in case?

He groaned. When the _hell_ was it going to stop? He couldn't take it anymore. In final desperation he moved – incredibly stiffly – on the couch until his back rested up against the arm. He then proceeded to rub himself up and down.

"Ah god ye - es", he moaned. It felt so good."

"_Shawn_!" The Enforcer hurried into the living room and stopped about him, a look of determination on his face. "Stop that! You don't want to get an infection."

Shawn stopped. He was being an idiot again. No wonder his father was disappointed in him. He could never do anything right – even heal. "Sorry", he muttered.

Henry sighed. "It's okay kid. Look, I know it itches but you have to let it heal. If you want I'll get an ice pack – that should help."

"It's okay", Shawn said quietly. He hated having to ask everyone – especially his father – for constant help. He couldn't even push himself in the wheelchair as his hands and arms were still injured. "I'm fine."

"Like hell you are!" Henry said angrily. He stood and practically stomped to the Refrigerator. Opening the freezer door he grabbed an ice pack and stomped back over to Shawn. "Lean forward."

On a good day Shawn would have argued – not because he didn't want the ice pack, but because that's what he did. He and his father had an established rhythm: Henry would tell him what to do and he'd argue. It didn't matter if what Henry said was right or wrong – it was Shawn's duty, as his only son, to whine, object, disagree and just plain refuse to do what his father wanted.

That had changed. He'd finally realized that he was being childish and immature. His father _did_ know some things and he was a fool for ignoring them just because his father was the one to say them.

"Ahhh", he groaned, but this time in relief. The ice instantly soothed the almost constant itch of the healing wounds – wounds he'd done everything in his power to ignore.

"Dad?" he asked softly – hesitatingly.

"Yeah?" His father moved the pack slightly, hitting another itchy spot. "What is it Shawn."

"Uh", his voice dropped off and he closed his eyes. No – he didn't want to know.

"Shawn? What?"

Damn – there it was again, that little voice in his head, telling him to grow up, to be a man. He sighed. "What – what does it say?"

He'd been afraid to ask – he didn't want to know, although deep down he was pretty sure he had an idea. Still, he never had to see it, and he didn't take his shirt off in front of strangers so who would know.

You would, that damned little voice said. So just get it over with. It's better knowing.

It was only then, as he finally convinced himself that he realized the silence had gone on too long. That wasn't like Henry. "Dad?"

"Sorry", his father murmured softly, moving the ice pack. "This help?"

"Uh – yeah but – Dad? Why are you telling me?"

He heard his father's deep sigh and could feel him move slightly – probably trying to get up the courage to tell him. "It's not really -"

"Don't lie", he told his father softly. "Just tell me."

"Okay – but I want you to remember that this was done by a crazy man – and it means nothing." Henry removed the ice pack and there was a pause. "It says 'Cheat' and 'Liar'."

Sean had known it. He'd heard it enough from Bill so wasn't surprised. "It's the truth", he said after a few seconds. "That's what I am." Yes he'd known what it said, and he'd also known that he deserved to have those words branded – or in reality carved – into his skin. He was permanently marked by words which declared the truth. He was Shawn Spencer, cheat and liar."

"Like hell you are!" Henry said angrily, standing up and walking in front of him. "Don't you dare let that, that bastard convince you of _his_ lies. These words mean nothing – nothing at all – and the plastic surgeon said he could get rid of them for you. There might still be a scar but the words will be gone. Shawn _you are not a liar or a cheat_."

He couldn't look at his father, although he appreciated the defense. The fact was the words _were_ true, no matter how loudly Henry shouted. He knew it – Henry knew it – and it was a fact.

"Psych?" he finally whispered.

"What about it? It's your job and it's waiting for you when you get better."

"But it's a lie", he said, still speaking softly and still not looking up at his father.

There was another short pause and then he could feel his father sit on the couch next to him, the sharp dip of the couch causing his body to shift and his ribs to ache. He didn't say anything about it – having decided to no longer complain about anything.

"Look at me Shawn", the man who had raised him, the man who had taught him that honesty and being a good, upstanding citizen was everything, spoke firmly but gently. "Come on." After a second Shawn complied.

"I want you to tell me how many cases you've solved since you started Psych. How many Shawn?"

"Uh", he shrugged. "I don't know."

His father snorted. "Don't give me that crap. If there's anything I know about you is that you remember details like that. In fact I'm sure you remember every single client, every clue, every conviction, every _case_ that you've had. Now come on, _how many_?"

"Fifty-four", he finally whispered, "although Gus claims it's only fifty-three. He says we really didn't solve that case of the murdered mime, although I still think we did. I was the one who found the white make-up on the body. Can I help it if he confessed before I had a chance to tell the police? And anyway, he didn't _tell_ them he did it – he mimed it, so that doesn't count!"

Henry couldn't help but smile at hearing the old Shawn, just for a moment. "Well, whether it's fifty-four or fifty-three -"

"Four!"

"Fine – but what I'm trying to say is that you have solved a helluva lot of cases Shawn – cases the cops had trouble solving. That's an incredible record and one you should be proud of. Psych is a good thing and don't you let some – some criminal convince you otherwise."

Shawn stared at his father. "Who are you and what did you do with Henry?" he finally asked. "Dad – you've been bugging me about lying about being Psychic for years _and_ you're told me I should get a real job. Now you're telling me that I should be proud and that Psych _is_ a real job?"

Henry sighed and rubbed the top of his head. "Look Shawn – do I always agree with everything you do? No. I didn't like you starting your business based on a l – ur untruth -"

"Lie", Shawn corrected him.

"Fine – on a lie – but I can understand why you did it – and it doesn't make you a liar and a cheat."

"Okay Dad – not seeing the difference here. I lied – that makes me a liar."

"Shawn – when your Mom and I were still married she'd often ask me if a certain dress of top made her look fat. You can bet that no matter what the truth – in fact she had this one green dress that made her look like a giant lima bean – anyway, you can bet that I told her no. Sometimes that was a lie – but it didn't make me a liar."

"No? What would you call yourself then?"

"A diplomat – and a very smart husband."

Shawn leaned back, suddenly feeling tired and unsure of what was going on. He felt like his world had flipped and he wasn't quite sure how to handle it. His Dad – usually his biggest critic – was suddenly defending him again - _him_.

"And you're definitely not a cheat", the older Spencer snorted. "You have never cheated a client or the SBPD. You have done what they've asked – okay, in unorthodox ways I grant you – but you deliver. That is not cheating. And as for the scars- they don't mean anything other than the fact that you were kidnapped and hurt by an insane man – it has nothing to do who you are."

Rather than answering his father – who he didn't believe – he placed his head on the cushion and closed his eyes. "I think I'm gonna sleep now", he said. "I'm really tired."

Henry stayed and watched his son until his breathing had evened out and he was asleep. With that he stood stiffly and made his way to the kitchen. He didn't know what to do to help his son but he knew he had to do something. Shawn was in trouble and needed help. He glanced at the clock. Maddie, where are you? I really need you."

It seemed to help Shawn when his mother arrived. He perked up and seemed willing and able to talk and actually to eat a full mean. Unfortunately, that only lasted for the first day and then he began to retreat to his quiet, yet cooperative persona. In other words, the real Shawn disappeared once more.

* * *

"I just don't know what to do Maddie", he said as they walked along the beach. "He's just so damned – agreeable and cooperative and he doesn't argue or complain or whine or – hell, he's not Shawn anymore."

"He went through a lot Henry", his ex-wife reached out and linked her arm through his. "I know it's hard – I hate seeing him like this too – but it's not really surprising, is it?"

"Yes God damn it – it is! I've seen Shawn go through all sorts of things – hell, he was shot last year – and he always bounced back. Within days – hell, within _hours_ – he was back to driving everyone crazy. Now – I think someone came and switched him for someone else that only _looks_ like Shawn."

Maddie stopped, forcing him to stop as well. She looked for a few moments out to the ocean. "I still miss this", she said softly.

Henry almost made some snarky comment, but knew it wouldn't be fair and stopped himself. He was upset over Shawn and the last thing he wanted, or needed to do, was take it out on Madeleine.

She turned to him at that point and her lips turned up in a small smile. "Thank you", she said.

"What for?"

"For not making a sarcastic comment when I said that. I know you wanted to – and yes, I deserve some of it – but I think we both know that this has to be about Shawn so – thank you."

"You're welcome", he squeezed her arm with his hand. "So, what are we going to do?"

She sighed. "I don't know."

"But – you're a psychologist. You must know."

"Henry, it isn't an exact science – and anyway, I'm too close to it. Shawn is my son and it's a little hard to maintain a clinical distance when I hurt for him. I guess we just – love him and be here for him."

Henry sighed in frustration. "That's what I've been doing and it doesn't seem to have accomplished much. It's a good thing you're here though – he's much happier to have you than me around."

"What?" she turned towards him, pulling her arm away. "What did you say?"

"Just that you and Shawn – well, he doesn't get angry with you like he does with me. I know he feels better having you to watch out for him."

"Henry, you're a fool!" she said, moving away from him until she was again facing the water. "Shawn loves me – I have no doubt of that, and I love him. But _you're_ the one he relies on, not me."

"Now you're the one being foolish", he told her. "He argues constantly with me. I don't think we can go for more than a few minutes without me getting mad or him shouting at me. But I don't think I've ever seen him be that way with you."

She was silent, biting her lip. Finally she turned and faced him. "Do you know why that is?" she almost whispered.

"Why _what_ is?" he frowned.

"Why he doesn't get mad at me?"

"Uh –he gets along with you better?"

"Yes", she laughed, "but only superficially. Henry, _you_ were the one who was there for him all the time he was growing up. _You_ were the one whose opinion mattered to him. Me – well he loved me and I love him but I think -", she stopped.

"What? What do you think?"

"I think that even from a young age he sensed that I was looking for something – something that was going to fulfil me. It wasn't that I didn't love the two of you, because god knows I did, but I needed something more and Shawn knew that. I think he grew up fearing that I would leave and therefore was always careful around me. He wasn't bad with me, didn't argue, didn't fight – because he was afraid that he'd cause me to leave."

"That's crazy?"

"Is it?" she asked. "I don't think so. He fights with you and argues with you because he trusts you Henry. He knows you'll be there for him no matter what. His disagreeing with you – that's to prove that he's his own person – you're a strong personality and you spent a log of years trying to shape him so now he's proving to you he's his own man. But that doesn't matter because he also knows he can trust you not to leave him, to be there for him no matter what. I may be the parent he loves and misses – you are the parent he loves – and needs."

Henry swallowed – or at least he tried to swallow. He didn't know if what Maddie was saying was true or not – but he wanted to believe it was. He was never quite sure how Shawn really felt about him. Oh, he knew his son loved him – in some way – but to think that Shawn trusted him to that depth and _needed_ him – made all the difference in the world.

"Can I ask you something Henry?" Maddie suddenly spoke.

He blinked and looked at her, snapped out of his thoughts. "Of course."

"Have you been treating Shawn carefully? I mean, have you been gentle with him and understanding and kind?"

"Of course!" he snapped, peeved that she would even consider that he'd do anything else.

"Maybe that's the problem."

"_What_? What the hell are you saying?"

"Just that – maybe he needs the old irascible Henry back. Oh, not right away – he needs time to heal physically – but it's like everything was ripped out from underneath him and he's struggling to make sense of his world again. Having you act – differently – than normal must be one more thing that convinces him that things have changed and that he has to change with it. I think it might be good for him – eventually – to have you start to lecture him again."

Henry couldn't believe his ears. For years Maddie had accused him of being too harsh on Shawn, of constantly riding him, and now she was telling him to go ahead and do it again.

"So – you want me to tell Shawn off – for what? Getting himself kidnapped and tortured?"

"Of course not Henry, don't be stupid. I mean – just start being a bit more like yourself – you know, you can be a pain in the ass – so let Shawn start to see glimpses of that. It might help."

"Great – now I have to torment my son even more."

"Don't think of it that way", she told him, again linking her arm with his and pointing him back to the house. "Think of it as – therapy, Henry style."

His Mom and Dad were both watching a moving, while he continued to lie on the couch, a useless pile of crap. He rolled his eyes – what was different about that? That's who he was.

Well, in fact his parents co-habiting in the same house and co-babysitting him, without one harsh word or comment was different. It was little green aliens playing bagpipes and doing clog dancing on the kitchen table kind of different. It was Mr. T. giving up his necklaces kind of different. It was Gus saying he wasn't hungry kind of different. It was Jules telling him 'yes, I'll go out with you Shawn and peel your grapes and nibble your ear-lobes different. Hey – that was a really good one. He'd have to remember it and mention it to her. It would be awesome.

It was great having his Mom here, really it was, although he was starting to get antsy from the hovering and the thought that she was constantly analyzing him. He knew he was depressed and crazy and – and he didn't need his _mother_ watching him to see if he'd pick up the butcher knife and go on a rampage around Santa Barbara.

He didn't want to admit it – and shied away from the truth of it – but it had been easier when it was just his father. He felt like he needed to please his mother, to keep her happy - but with his Dad – well, he wanted him to be proud of him, but he knew he could just be himself and not have to worry that Henry was worrying.

He closed his eyes, not interested in the movie. He dozed, half awake, and forced himself to think back to his time with Bill. There was something bothering him – something nagging at him that he'd been able to suppress until now. What was it? What the hell was it?

A _date_! That's what it was – a date – in September. But what did it mean? He thought back to his time with Bill, even though his mind wanted to shy away from it. No – you have to think Shawn – what was the date?

He closed his eyes, hoping his parents would think he was falling asleep. Instead, he put all his energy into concentrating. What the hell did that date mean? September 10, 1969. What did it mean?

Bill Farris could only have been ten or twelve in 1969 so it probably didn't have anything to do with him – or at least only indirectly. What had he said when he'd told him the date? He'd said 'that bastard, that bastard'. So, there was someone else involved. Suddenly he knew it was imperative that he find that other person. He had a terrible feeling that if he didn't, someone was going to die.

"Dad?"

"Hmmm?" Henry was too involved in the movie, so Shawn had to call again.

"What is it Shawn?" Henry kept his eyes, and most of his attention, on the TV.

"Dad – it's about Bill Farris. Please, I need some information."

There was a bit of a time delay from when he said the word to when his Dad registered them.

"What?" Henry grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. His Mom sat up straight and looked at him, a concerned expression on her face. "What about Farris?"

"I remembered something and we need to check it out. I think someone may be in danger."

"But – Shawn, it's been over two weeks since we found you. If he was going to do something I think he would have done it by now. It's probably too late."

"Maybe, but we don't know that for sure. For one thing, he's wanted and he's gonna have to lay low. And the other thing – he may not know where the person is."

"_What_ person? What did he say?"

"Well – he didn't really say anything – but he left clues." He explained the pictures and the clues he'd recovered. He barely glanced at his Mom, but when he did he could see that her face had gone totally white. Instantly he felt like a heel. "I'm sorry Mom – you don't need to listen to all of this. Why don't – why don't you go to bed."

"Don't be ridiculous Shawn", his loving mother retorted. "I'm just fine. Now keep going."

"Okay", he answered, and almost grinned when his father gave him a knowing smile. "look – get Lassy or Jules to check out September 10, 1969 and William Farris. Something may have happened that day and we need to find out what it was."

"Okay – I'll call one of the detectives and then we'll let _them handle it_. Your one and only job right now is to get better – so you can pass off this job to the police."

Shawn looked – for a moment – as if he was going to argue. Henry felt a surge in hope – Shawn was coming back – but then the euphoria of the moment passed as Shawn's face went blank.

"Okay", he said, sounding defeated. "Just tell Lassie to hurry it up, okay. Someone's life could be in danger."


	14. Lying Around

_**So sorry for the long delay in posting. I'll try and do it more regularly - I've just been swamped with work. This is a short chapter but I wanted to give you something!**_

_**Just got back from NYC today and took the kids to After Midnight. My daughter got a hug and picture with Dule Hill! Great show, great guy!**_

"So, you don't have any idea what it could mean?" Lassiter sat in the chair opposite him, his hands clasped together and held between his knees. He spoke gently to the still bruised and battered looking man on the couch.

"I've told you Lassie, I don't have a clue. All I know is that I figured out the date from the pictures and when I told Farris he got angry."

"But he _left_ the clues."

"I _know_", Shawn practically shouted. "I know he did – but _he_ didn't know that."

"What? You're not making sense Spencer", Lassiter snapped. Almost immediately Shawn could see a wash of guilt come over the detective's face. "I mean – uh – I'm sure you –" Lassiter sighed. "Look Shawn – if you do remember something, just tell us, okay? I understand that it's hard right now and that's – okay."

Shawn closed his eyes, tired of the fact that everyone was still walking on egg shells around him. He'd actually felt much better when Lassie had started to get mad at him. It made him feel like things were getting back to normal – but then he'd retreated to 'nice Lassie' which was really creeping him out.

"No", he answered softly. "No, it's not okay. I have to remember. I'm _good_ at remembering." He sighed. What was the point of all of this? They expected him to pull some miracle out of his hat – right now he couldn't even _count _the bloody things, let alone pull something out of one. Maybe he should just tell the truth to everyone – that he wasn't psychic and they should stop waiting around for him to get a vision that would explain everything. He wondered what Lassiter would do if he opened his mouth and admitted right now that he was a cheat and liar and it was best not to trust him to figure anything out? He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling tired again and unable to cope. "Look", he finally spoke. "All I know is that the date is important. Didn't you find _anything_?"

"No. We looked through everything we could – we even had McNabb go through all the records as well – and there was nothing about that date. Since he would only have been ten at the time, it was probably something that didn't have to do with the police. For all we know it was neighbor kid who pushed him off his bike or something."

"And you think he'd go to all that work to point to the anniversary of when some kid pushed him off his bike?"

"I don't _know_ Spencer! You tell me?"

That was more like it, thought Shawn. There was the real Lassiter. He could feel his face begin to relax – it wasn't a smile – he wasn't ready for smiles, but he felt like things were starting to move towards normal. Lassiter was grumpy.

"Okay", Shawn tried to pull himself up but didn't get very far. He wanted to scream – he could still barely move on his own.

"Here", Lassiter spoke gruffly. He got up and quickly grabbed Shawn under his arms and pulled him to a more seated position. "Is that better?"

"Yeah – thanks Lassiepants!" he replied softly. It was unfortunate – or maybe in fact it was a good thing – but he wasn't looking at the other man as he said that. He would have seen Lassiter blink rapidly, trying to hold onto his emotions from hearing that hated – and yet oh so missed – name.

"Yeah – just don't expect me to wait on you after this Spencer", he growled, dealing with his sudden emotion through his usual manner of dealing with the younger man. "I have better things to do with my time."

There it was – an actual, real, totally legitimate – if faint – Spencer smile. Lassiter had to blink again and made a show of looking for his coffee cup to hide his relief.

"Thanks Detective", Shawn said softly.

"For what?" This time Lassiter's frown was legitimate. He honestly had no idea why Spencer was thanking him.

"For being you", was all the younger man said, a faint look of the old Spencer on his face.

* * *

"Did you find out anything?" a very worried looking Juliet came up to Lassiter as soon as he reached his desk. "Has Shawn gotten any – any psychic leads about the date or about Farris?"

Lassiter sighed and sat down. "No – nothing. I don't think – I don't think we can rely on him for anything."

"_Lassiter_! Why won't you ever give him the benefit of the doubt?" Jules wanted to shout at him. "How many times has he helped us? You just hate the fact that he's usually right!"

Lassiter stared at her, a slight frown on his face. When she was done he shook his head. "No – that's not – I mean – I don't think he's well enough to – to get any kind of, you know, psychic reading, that's all I meant O'Hara. He's – he's still pretty sick."

She looked at her partner in confusion. He almost sounded – worried, as if he cared. When she saw that he wouldn't even look her in the eye her eyes narrowed in suspicion and guilt. "Are you planning to stop investigating then?"

His head whipped up and he scowled. "No way in hell! We're gonna find the bastard that did this and I am going to personally make sure he spends the rest of his life rotting in jail!"

A slow smile spread on her face. "You really do care Lassiter – Shawn was right."

He scowled even more and looked away. After a few seconds he turned back to her. "Don't say a word to Spencer or I'll never hear the end of it. He still irritates me", he said quickly, when she went to speak. "And I don't think he should be allowed near our cases – he's childish and immature and doesn't follow proper procedure. He's a – ridiculous man-child and a pain in the ass."

Juliet smiled. "And -?"

"But he's _our_ pain in the ass and the person who hurt him is going to regret it for the rest of his life!"

* * *

Shawn tried to figure it out, he really did. He spent hours staring into space, sure that he'd missed something – but there was absolutely nothing that he remembered that helped. For once in his life his skills and his training deserted him. All he _could_ remember, with startling clarity, was Bill coming at him with the cigarette and the knife and the bat and – _stop_ it! He wanted to run away from those memories, but he couldn't. Hell, he couldn't even walk. For now he was stuck, and he was going insane.

His mother had stayed for over two weeks but finally had to leave to get back to her job. It had been nice having her around, although he had to admit – to himself only – that he was relieved that she was going. It wasn't that he didn't love her, it's just she swung back and forth from being over-protective to acting like a therapist – and he really didn't want to deal with either of those.

"I'll come back when I'm finished with my workshop", she promised, looking at him with worry in her eyes. "It'll only be a couple of weeks and by then you should be up and around a bit better. You take care of yourself Goose", she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You're going to be okay you know."

"I know Mom", he gave her a quick hug, finally able to move his arms, although his shoulder still stabbed when he moved too suddenly. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

She sat back and regarded him carefully. "Just don't kill your father, okay? He's only trying to help."

He agreed and gave his Mom another hug and watched as she left. He felt a touch of sadness, but knew she'd be back and he could look forward to seeing her soon.

He sighed and leaned back against the couch, enjoying the brief bit of solitude he'd been granted. His Dad was dropping his Mom at the airport and then was going out for a few hours on his boat. Henry had only agreed to go when he was sure that Gus was coming over to spend time with Shawn.

After his parents left – and boy, did that sound weird – he picked up the phone and called his friend. He needed some time alone and he _didn't_ need a damned babysitter. As much as he appreciated how worried everyone was for him, he needed some time to think and he couldn't, not when everyone hovered over him constantly. Normally he liked being around people but now – now he needed quiet.

"Gus? Hi – yeah, I'm fine. Say – uh – you don't need to come over today – no, I'm good, really. I'm just tired and I'm gonna to take a nap and then Dad will be home to fix dinner. Look, I know you're behind on your route so why don't you finish it up. You can come over tomorrow."

That had gone easier than he'd expected so he figured Gus must be _really_ behind – either that or he was tired of being the on-call nanny.

So – he'd gotten his wish and he was all by himself. Great – now what? He glanced around the room to see if there was anything he wanted to do – not that he could actually _do_ very much of anything. Still, it was nice to have the option to do something other than lie there and be waited on.

He slowly sat up and placed his feet on the floor. He'd been given a walking cast for one leg – finally – and crutches. It was still hard to get around with all the other injuries, not the least of which was his shoulder and arm and other leg. It made walking twice as hard and so far he'd only taken a few steps, and always with his Dad or Gus beside him.

But now he was on his own and he was determined to walk. He slowly pushed himself up, swaying briefly, and then he hooked the crutches with one hand. "There – this can't be _that_ hard."

But of course it was. He'd only managed to get a few feet and was sweating like he had run a marathon. He glanced back at the couch, wondering if he should simply give up and spend the afternoon watching TV. But for once that didn't sound appealing. He'd spent more hours watching TV in the last few weeks than he had in years, although his friends and family probably wouldn't believe that.

He'd definitely had enough of lying around on his ass, although right now that was just about all he could do. It was frustrating – no, it was maddening – no, it was _hell_. He groaned and decided to keep going, even though he didn't really have a destination in mind. Maybe he could go sit outside on the deck and at least look at the ocean. It would be different scenery than his Dad's living room at least.

Just then there was a knock on the door. His expression brightened. For all he had wanted to be alone, suddenly he realized he could use some company. If he was really lucky it would be Jules. She'd been over to see him a few times, always trying to cheer him up. So far it hadn't worked, although he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him – don't go there Shawn, he said to himself. She doesn't need someone like you.

"_I'm coming_", he called at the second knock. With the speed with which he could travel the person would be gone – or would start sprouting cobwebs – before he got there. "Just hold on", he yelled again. He tried to speed up but almost wiped out.

He finally made it to the door, his face practically dripping with sweat from the exertion. Still, he'd made it and he was feeling rather proud of himself. Carefully moving one of his crutches to his other arm, he reached and opened the door. "Hey – what's –"

"Hi Shawn." Bill stood outside the door, a smile on his face and a knife in one hand. "Happy to see me?"

_**Mwahahaha**_


	15. With Friends Like These

His mind went completely blank. He simply stared at the man in front of him, not feeling fear, nor anger, nor hatred. He felt nothing.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably no more than mere seconds, the 'nothing' morphed into a strange sense of inevitability. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he'd known this day would come. A part of him, the tiny part that was still functioning, recognized that he could have wished this had happened when he wasn't still so crippled.

The next thought that followed was that he was probably going to die any minute now. His father would be angry at him for that. A cop would know what to do, wouldn't let it happen. Lassiter would say that it just proved he wasn't psychic. Gus would cry – and then probably get on with his life. Juliet – well, he hoped she'd cry too but he figured would soon get over his death. He just wished he'd asked her out – even once – but now he'd lost that chance.

And what a bitch that was! Instantly he could felt a surge of anger replace the strange lethargy he'd been experiencing since he'd first opened the door.

He blinked and realized that everything had gone through his mind in less time than it'd taken Bill to shift from one foot to another. Well hell, he'd better snap out of it and do something before it was too late. Maybe he could make his father proud after all. I mean, miracles did happen, didn't they?

"No", he said simply.

Bill looked confused, which strangely made Shawn want to laugh. At least he hadn't lost that.

"What? What are you saying?" Bill hissed at him.

"I said 'no'. You asked me if I missed you, and I said 'no'. Wasn't I clear?"

Bill opened his mouth to answer, when Shawn did something he should have done as soon as he'd recognized who was standing on his father's front step. He slammed the door in Bill's face and then quickly locked it. He then stole a look out the window in the door to see his kidnapper and torturer standing there, a shocked look on his face, which quickly turned to anger.

Shawn knew he had to get to a phone, and quickly. Bill would be able to get in if he really wanted to and there'd be little he could do to defend himself. He wished he could run, but instead he forced himself to hobble over to his father's phone, cursing that he'd left his cell on the couch.

"Note to self", he muttered. "Never leave home – or couch – without it!"

As he stumbled his way slowly to the phone he could feel his heart practically pick up and run screaming from the room. He was scared. Hell – he was _terrified_. But as that was mixed with an equal dose of anger he refused to let it get the better of him. He was _not_ going to let this bastard get away with terrorizing him – or killing him, for that matter. Nope – he was done with that.

He managed to get to the phone and quickly dialed 911. He told the operator what was going on and then hung up, even as she continued to speak. He knew she'd send help immediately and he had to see what was happening. He had to know if Bill was still around. Shaking almost uncontrollably now, he looked around the room. For once he wished his father kept a gun down here – but Henry was too much the cop. He knew the dangers of having weapons in the house and kept his carefully locked in his upstairs bedroom.

Casting his eyes around the room he tried to find something, anything to use as a weapon. He finally lit on a walking stick his father used on his rare hikes. It was solid wood and would make a formidable club and defense against a knife. Now if Bill brought a gun then it would be pretty useless.

Shawn stood for a few seconds, unsure what to do. Should he go back to the front door? Was Bill even now circling around the back, trying to make his way in? He couldn't remember, suddenly, whether the back door was even locked. He knew his father was a touch paranoid about that, especially since Shawn had been kidnapped, but it could still be open. He could feel himself start to sweat.

Still debating, he eventually swiveled – and almost fell – to face the front door. That was the best. If Bill _did_ get in, he could flee out the front and there might be enough people outside to keep Bill from trying anything.

"Yeah sure", he hissed, his leg deciding that it had gone too long without making him aware of it and he began to feel something like hot daggers jabbing into his thigh. Oh well, at least it would keep him alert. As if he was in danger of falling asleep when there was a homicidal maniac running around!

He almost stumbled as the muscle in his leg cramped, but he forced himself on. He had to get out to safety.

Now sure that Bill would burst in any moment, he scrambled as fast as he could – even though he probably looked like something out of the walking dead, a very slow walking dead guy. He had to get out of here. He could feel his heart speed up even more, his breathing become shallower and his whole body get weaker as the terror grew. He hadn't heard anything, anything at all and that was creeping him out even more.

He had to make it. He _could_ make it. It was only a few more feet and then he'd be outside. Come on Shawn …

He reached the door and groaned in relief. He reaching out and touched the handle –

"Ringgggg".

"Awwww!" he screamed, falling back so fast he landed on his ass on the floor. He was here. Bill was standing outside, ready to come in and kill him. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" he whispered, sure he was about to die.

He could hear the key turn in the lock and knew the end was here. It didn't dawn on him that Bill wouldn't have a key to his father's house. Instead he was sure he was going to die on his father's floor and there was nothing he could do about it. "I'm sorry Da-"

"Shawn? Oh my God." Gus swiftly knelt on the floor beside him. "Are you okay? What happened? Oh my God, I'll call for an ambulance."

Just then sirens could be heard approaching the house and Gus looked surprised and then afraid. "How did they -?"

"It's – the – police", gasped Shawn. He was seeing spots and thought for sure he was going to black out. The only thing that kept him conscious was a niggling thought – so niggling he couldn't _quite_ remember what it was. "Gus", he panted.

"What Shawn? What?" Gus was sounding panicked himself, even though he didn't know what was wrong.

He didn't _know_! Shawn closed his eyes, his vision getting a slight bit better, even though he was still faint. "Bill", he finally huffed, as his memory started to return. "Was here. Be – careful!"

"What?" Gus frowned, unsure as to what Shawn was trying to say. "Bill? Bill – oh my God! You don't mean the _kidnapper_?"

He nodded. "Yes – here – knife – closed door."

Thankfully, at that moment the police _and_ fire department all arrived at once. To no one's surprise – least of all Spencer and Gus – the first person, or people, on the scene were Lassiter and Juliet. He could always count on them, was Shawn's only thought. His brain was still pretty much mush!

"Lassie!" he called, although faintly. "You came!"

"Of course I came Spencer", the detective snapped. "You called the police. We're supposed to come. Are you alright?" Lassiter seemed to suddenly realize that the psychic was lying on his butt on the floor. "Why are you on the floor? Are you hurt?"

"He fell", Guster explained, "when I opened the door. I don't know why."

Shawn continued to lie there, looking up at the concerned faces of Juliet and Gus and the irritated face of Lassiter. He didn't say anything, not sure what to tell them.

"He said that Bill was here", Gus continued.

"Bill?' Lassie frowned.

"Not you too", Shawn sighed. "You remember – the guy who kidnapped me and tortured me."

"And he was _here_?" Lassie was surprised, but that was followed swiftly by him turning to the officers behind him. "Check everything out – now. And be careful. This guy is probably armed and is extremely dangerous." He looked down at Shawn. "Do you need an ambulance?"

"Uh –no. I could use a hand though."

Both Gus and Lassiter helped him stand and move towards the couch with Jules offering whatever assistance she could. They finally got him seated, and in good time as he was ready to collapse.

Jules watched him briefly and then headed into the kitchen and filled a glass of water. "Here", she handed it to him. "Are you sure you're okay Shawn?"

"Yeah", he drank the water. "I'm sorry", he said, handing the empty glass back.

"What are you sorry for?" Lassiter walked back to the couch after having told the fire department everything was under control. "What did you do?"

"I – nothing. I'm sorry you had to come out like this."

"Are you sure you saw him?" the chief detective asked. "Could it have been that you were sleeping and maybe dreamt it? Sometimes dreams are pretty vivid."

"I didn't dream it Lassy", Shawn spoke quietly, looking down at his hands. "I was up when the doorbell rang. I answered it and he was standing there. He asked if I was glad to see him. He had a knife in one hand."

"Oh Shawn", Jules said gently, kneeling beside him and looking up into his drawn face. "What did you do?"

He blinked down at her, again thinking how beautiful she was. "Uh – I slammed the door in his face."

"You what?" her eyebrows flew up and she half laughed. "You just – closed the door. Didn't he try and stop you?"

For the first time in a long time Shawn could feel a grin start to force its way onto his face. Maybe it was the reaction from the terror of a few moments ago, but suddenly he found it funny. Soon he was chuckling – which was soon followed by out and out laughter. The next thing he knew he was hugging himself, trying to keep from hurting as a result of his hysterical laughter.

He missed the looks that passed between Gus, Jules and Lassiter – and he wouldn't have cared anyway. It felt _good_ to laugh, even if it was as much about relief as it was from anything truly being funny. Still, he couldn't … "you should have - _seen_", he laughed again, "seen – his _– face!_ He didn't – expect me to – shut it." He had to bend over and he could barely catch his breath. But it was so _good_.

"Shawn – are you okay?" Gus finally asked. He was looking at him with concern, but Shawn didn't care.

"Yup – just – fine", he chortled. "I just keep – thinkin' about – old Bill. He didn't – expect – that!"

Lassiter watched him, his head shaking, and then made his way out the front to check on things.

"We couldn't find anything Sir", one of the police officers walked towards him. "We checked all over and there's no sign of anybody. If he was here he managed to escape and not leave any clues. There's nothing."

"Thank you officer", Lassiter answered. With a quick look around – and a ferocious scowl – he finally walked back inside.

"Did you see _anything_ Spencer?" Lassiter walked over to the couch again, determined to figure this out.

"No – all I saw was him – standing looking at me."

"And you're sure it was him? Could it have been someone else who just _looked_ like Bill?"

"Like who? A vacuum cleaner salesman? A Jehovah's Witness? I doubt if either of them would show up with a knife in his hand, asking if I'd missed him?"

"Spencer – look, there's no evidence that anyone was here and without further proof there's not really anything we can do. One of us will stay here until your father is back, but that's about all I can do I'm afraid. If you remember anything – or if the uh – _spirits_ talk to you, let me know."

"You don't believe me Lassie", Shawn said quietly. He'd recovered from his fit of laughter and was now feeling exhausted, and still frightened, by his earlier encounter. On top of that he felt hurt that the detective would doubt him. He glanced at Jules and then Gus, hoping to see their belief in him and was further hurt by the looks of doubt that flitted across their faces. "_None_ of you believe me", he muttered. "Fine – then just go. No point wasting police resources on me." He closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch. He just wanted this all to be over.

"Shawn", Jules gentle voice reached out to him, as did her hand which she placed on his shoulder. "It's not that we don't believe you, it's just we're not sure what to do. Lassiter called it in and they're notifying everyone to be on the lookout for him. And we're _not_ going to leave you unprotected. One of us will be here with you at all times."

"Even in the bathroom?" he asked, feeling slightly better.

She rolled her eyes, but grinned. "I think we can stand outside the door."

"But what if he's hiding in there?"

"Where Shawn?" Gus asked. "In the toilet tank?"

"You never know about maniacs. He could be anywhere."

"I'm sure he's not in the john Spencer", Lassiter told him, sounding disgusted.

"But what about under my bed? Will you check under my bed for me Jules?"

Suddenly her face cracked into a beautiful smile. He tilted his head – wondering what had caused her to look so happy all of a sudden. His joke hadn't been _that_ funny. "What?"

"You're back Shawn."

"Back?" he looked between her and Gus – who was also grinning. "Where did I go?"

"You've – not been yourself", she said carefully.

"What she means is that you haven't been your irritating self lately", Lassiter broke in. "You've been quiet and sensible and polite. I really don't understand why she's so happy."

Shawn grinned. "You love me too Lassy, don't deny it."

"I may have to shoot you if you say that again Spencer", he growled. "Now, let's figure out where this madman could have gone. You're sure you don't remember anything?" he pulled out his pad of paper and sat down opposite Shawn. Both Jules and Gus also sat, looking expectantly at their friend.

Shawn stared back at the three of them. He _did_ feel a slight bit better, but there was no way he was back to the way he had been. He couldn't be, not after all that had happened. Still, he'd wanted to make his friends feel better and knew that appearing to be his usual ridiculous self they'd think he was on the mend. He wanted to sigh – it was going to take some energy to keep this up – energy he was pretty sure he didn't have.

"So?" Lassiter was sporting his 'grumpy' face, so Shawn figured he'd better pay attention. No point pissing Lassiter off if he didn't have to.

He nodded and closed his eyes. Surely there was something he could remember. He was good at this – he'd been highly trained in observation by none other than Henry Spencer. Surely his skill hadn't deserted him, not now, not when he really needed it.

He touched his fingers to the side of his head. He'd have to give at least a little psychic show if he wanted them to believe he had it in him. It helped him concentrate anyway – something he needed to do right now.

Think Shawn, think. He'd only seen Bill for a few seconds and his mind had definitely been elsewhere. But not his eyes! His eyes were good at finding clues. There had to be something, _anything._ He thought back to those few brief moments.

"He was wearing a red shirt", he muttered. "A red button down shirt – open at the top. He had jeans on and he was holding the knife."

"Anything else you remember?"

"Uh – no." He opened his eyes and wanted to groan. What was – wait! He frowned. There was something but what …? He touched his head again. "I'm seeing – "

"What? What are you seeing?" Lassiter looked at him anxiously. "What is it?"

"There's a car – a white car -" Shawn's eyes were focused, not on the present, but on that white car. It was sitting out on the street, almost in front of his father's house. He was sure it didn't belong to one of the neighbors so it must have been Bill's. He thought back to that car until he began to see the license plate. "it's CA 2B7 3GK."

Shawn collapsed back onto the couch, wanting nothing so much as to sleep. It had been a terrible day – but was now showing signed of improving. "Are you going to look for the car?" he asked Lassiter.

"Damn right I am", the detective told Shawn. "We're gonna capture this bastard if it's the last thing I do."

Shawn stared at him, his face serious for once. "Wow. You really _do_ care", he whispered. He felt surprisingly emotional, although a part of him wanted to laugh at Lassiter's sour expression. The detective hated to be caught being nice. "Alright - let's catch him!"

Jules put out her hand and laid it on top of his. A moment later Gus added his. He was humbled at the loyalty of his friends, although he wanted to laugh at the 'Three Muskateers moment'. He knew he didn't deserve them, but right now he didn't care. He needed them. "So – about looking under my bed Jules ….!"


End file.
